


Bottles

by Iktsuarpok



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Abortion mention, Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Delivery Scene, Did we mention angst?, F/M, Infant Death, M/M, Medical Procedures, Miscommunication, Mpreg, Original Character(s), Pregnancy, Sexting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-27
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-02-27 04:52:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2679833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iktsuarpok/pseuds/Iktsuarpok
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It only takes one mistake to ruin happily ever after.<br/>Carlos and Cecil, five years into their domestic fairy-tale ending, endure a tragedy unlike any other. Left with an empty nursery, a broken marriage, and an ever-growing wedge between them, the couple must struggle to recover from their devastating misstep.<br/>In a tale of broken trust, cruel fate, and forced second chances, Carlos and Cecil are forced to test just how much their love can endure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mia

**Author's Note:**

> Written by myself and a friend across the country from me in an RP format.  
> Enjoy!

Hey Josie! Well, I'm having just a _tiny_ little bit of trouble over here with my little angel, and we were wondering if the best godmother in the world would be able to come over for just a second to give us a hand? -CP

What seems to be the issue, dear? -JA

My Mia is being a bit fussy. I think she's having... a nap? Maybe she's hungry? I don't know. This had been all really confusing. -CP

Is she crying? Are her eyes open or closed? -JA

Her eyes are open, and she's not crying. Maybe she's mad at me? But then she'd be crying a lot, right? -CP

I'll be over in a minute, deary. Get a bottle ready. -JA

Okay, thank you! You're the best, and Mia thanks you too! -CP

Old Woman Josie knocked on Cecil's front door not ten minutes later, her minivan temporarily parked in the scientist's usual spot.  
He was always working so hard, that Carlos.  
Adjusting her wool pink sweater and straightening her bright green glasses, she stood on her toes, trying to look through the peep hole.  
"Mia! Grandma's home!"

Cecil had the door open only a moment later, having been anxiously waiting behind it, his three month old girl in his arms. The young one was tiny for her age, swallowed up by the soft clothing Cecil had carefully dressed her in after her bath, right after the horrible, stomach wrenching feeling that something was unspeakably wrong set in.  
But it wouldn't be bad.  
No, it would be okay.  
It couldn't be bad, not with his beautiful little girl around.  
The nervous blonde ushered the older woman in, gently bouncing his steps in an attempt to sooth the already too silent bundle in his arms. "She's... she's just a bit fussy, but she's fine. Right? S-She... she's just a little fussy...."

"Here, dear," Josie said calmly, offering her arms to hold the child.  
No one cared for their family more than the young radio host, but the poor thing was clueless when it came to how to raise a child. He was always putting diapers on backwards, always making the milk too hot, always burping the child with far too much vigor in his patting motions.  
Still, the older woman came over when she could, gently guiding Cecil and teaching him how to properly care for a child.  
"May I see her?"

Nodding, the blonde man gave the too quiet infant in his arms a soft kiss on the forehead before handing her over.  
The child didn't make a sound at the transition, or even a movement.  
She hadn't blinked, either.  
"Josie, I..." Cecil's voice choked in his throat as he stared blank eyed at the unmoving bundle. "She's.... She's just a bit fussy right now." It was the same excuse as before, the tone more nervous, more insistent. 

Slowly, Josie brought a leathery hand up to the child's brown curls, brushing away the dolly locks and moving them out of her face. Her hair was lovingly brushed and bowed, still slightly damp from her morning bath.  
Small trickles of water were falling from her nostrils, running over her porcelain lips and down the sides of her tan cheeks.  
"Cecil, dear," she whispered, looking up at the worried mother and pulling the child closer to her chest. There wasn't a struggle from the tiny body in her arms, the baby still. She was careful to keep her expression blank, years of living in Night Vale associating her all too closely with tragedy. Immediately, her mind shifted to caring for the mother. "Cecil, get Carlos on the phone."

Cecil nodded silently, letting his hand linger on the infant's blankets before he retrieved the phone from the kitchen, typing in Carlos' number with shaking hands.  
Their Mia was fine.  
She'd only gone underwater for a _second_ in her bath, maybe less. He'd only turned his back to get her shampoo, and there was no way that--  
Static.  
Static in his mind, numbing his fingertips as he pressed in the final numbers to Carlos' work phone and handed the device over to Josie, eyes glued to the still child in her arms.

Josie nodded her thanks, taking the phone and raising it to her left ear--the other occupied with a municipally approved hearing aid.  
Ring.  
Ring.  
Ri--  
" _Carlos Ramirez, GreenHill Research?_ "  
"Carlos," she whispered, bouncing the tiny corpse in her arms to provide Cecil some level of comfort.  
" _Josie, hello! What's up? Scientifically speaking, the sky is up, I suppose, with some levels of cirrus clouds, but what is up in the connotative sens--_ "  
"It's Mia."  
There was a dead silence from the other end, shattering glass just barely picked up by the receiver.  
" _Mia?_ "  
"Hurry home, Carlos dear. Work will have to wait. I'm so sorry."  
" _So sorry? Wait, what do you mean, 'so sorry--?'_ "  
Josie hanged up the phone before the scientist could finish, storing it in one of the many pockets in her fanny pack. 

Cecil was pale as a sheet, practically hovering over Josie and trying to take a peek at his daughter's face. "What did you mean? Mia's just fine. She's just... just..."  
Oh, he'd sprung around the moment he realized what he'd done, quickly removing the girl from her small bath station and holding her to his chest with no regard for the water that soaked into his own shirt, patting her back and trying to kiss away his mistake.  
She'd been so quiet.  
His baby, his Mia.  
"I did everything right, Josie! I... I fed her, I g-gave her a bath, and I brushed her hair all nice like she likes, really gentle..."  
"Just take a seat, dearest," Josie whispered, keeping Mia's too-still face to her chest and walking to the living room. She couldn't let Cecil hold the baby again, not with the small trickles of water rolling down her innocent face. Everything in Mia’s tiny chest was steadily separating; the water from the blood, the muscle from the bone...  
Their perfect little girl, breaking apart...  
"Sit down, honey. Carlos should be home any minute."

"What what about Mia? Where are you taking her? She's going to get scared without her Mommy!"  
Cecil was in a near panic, running his fingers anxiously through his hair, his perfectly smooth voice cracking as he followed her, talking as his voice cracked more and more, tears of horror beginning to drip down his face.  
"J-Josie, she's going to be just f-fine. She's fine, right? Just a bit fussy... Oh gods, Josie, I only turned my back for a second a-and she was already u-under the w-water... I'm so sorry, Josie... Oh my gods..."

"Cecil, darling..." Josie moved to the living room cradle as quickly as her arthritic knees would allow, setting the small child in it and doing her best to cover her face with the tiny pink blanket. Sensing Cecil coming up behind her, she turned back around and blocked Mia with her body, taking Cecil's hands in her own and squeezing them tightly. She had to stabilize Cecil before Carlos got home.  
"This isn't your fault. Accidents- tragic accidents, they happen to the best of us. It wasn't your fault, dear... Please, sit down..."

The radio host only shook his head, trembling like a leaf as he gripped the old woman's hands, his head leaning down until his chin touched his chest as his shoulders began to shake with sobs.  
"She's... S-She's a little girl! She's not dead! Mia, baby, Mommy's here!" He called out to the soft pink bundle, peering over the shorter woman before he broke down further, falling to his knees and wrapping his arms around Josie, leaning his head softly against her as he sobbed inconsolably. 

Slowly, Josie pried Cecil off of her legs, sinking down to his level and pulling him into a real hug. She rubbed his back, knowing far too well no words could comfort the grieving mother. The small child stared at the crying mother with one dry, exposed eye, the blanket having fallen away in the corner.  
_SLAM!_  
"Cecilito!" The scientist ran into the living room, his perfect hair a disheveled, sweaty mess. His car had broken down halfway home, but after three calls to Cecil's phone with no answer, he had sprinted to their house. Had she broken her arm? Hit her head?

Cecil only sobbed harder, his breaths gasping as he held tightly to Josie, unable to even look at his husband.  
The other man had been so happy, so _proud_ when they had Mia. And he'd taken all those wonderful, glorious dreams of having a family away. There would be no nagging her to do her homework, no attaching training wheels to a new bike, or making her first birthday cake.  
"It... it's m-my fault, Carlos! I'm so, s-so sorry... so sorry..."

The scientist immediately rushed to his husband, falling to his knees beside him and rubbing his back. He'd never seen Cecil so distressed, and his young face was drawn up with concern.  
"Shh, shh, it's okay," he whispered, fear clenching his heart.  
_It's Mia._  
Slowly, the scientist looked up at his daughter, lovingly washed and wrapped up in her favorite pink blanket. He moved over to her side in a trance-like haze, taking her from her small cradle and supporting her head.  
"¿Cariña?" he whispered, smiling as brightly as he could at the child.  
She didn't move.  
Smile cracking, he started to bounce her, adjusting himself on his knees. His mind wouldn't compute the possibility. It wasn't an option. "Cariña, Daddy's home... Cariña..." Carlos' voice started to crack, two fingers pressing to her chubby, delicate neck.  
No pulse.  
Nothing.  
Carlos stared down at his daughter in disbelief, his husband's crying merely a white noise in the background. Her cold eyes- so like his- stared up at him, a thin bead of water rolling out her button nose.  
Slowly, the man's shoulders started to shake, his eyes squeezing shut. He brought the infant up to his chest, falling back onto the carpet and patting her back in a burping manner.  
His Mia wasn't dead. It was scientifically impossible.  
Scientifically... S-Scientifically impossible...  
"...D-Duérmete mi niña que tengo que hacer..." His voice heightened in pitch as he sang, soul tearing in two. He felt like he'd been thrown into a pool of ice, the initial shock wearing away as coldness started to take him. "Lavar los pañales y sentarme a cosar..."

Cecil let out a moan of something visceral and gut wrenchingly sorrowful, his hands coming up to fist in his hair, tugging at the strands as he tried to stand up and away from Josie, to get to his husband and daughter. He stumbled, then found his footing again, only to sink back down to his knees at Carlos' side. Laying a hand on their daughter and pressing a kiss to her soft, round cheek, his own tears stained her skin with his despair.  
"It's my fault, Mia, my little one... I'm so, so sorry, angel. My sweet, perfect Mia..."  
He was wrapping his arms around Carlos and his daughter a moment later, laying his head against the scientist's shoulder as he sobbed, nuzzling his face gently against Mia's own cheek.

Carlos was too anguished to register the radio host's arms around him. He'd always known Cecil wasn't equipped to take care of a child on his own. But he'd never assumed it would have gotten this bad- that Cecil could be this _irresponsible_...  
"Mia... Mia, I'm sorry I wasn't h-here, I'm sorry, baby..." He kissed her head again and again, as though he could will her to squeal again at his many scratchy pecks. "Daddy loves you, Daddy's so sorry... Daddy loves you..." He turned away from Cecil, keeping the little girl close to his chest. The blonde could squish her, or crush her, or... or...  
Carlos let out a broken, desperate groan, cracking his eyes only to see a small bottle sitting on the nearby counter. It had small pink bows etched into the plastic, the nipple a matching shade. The sight of the now useless bottle only made him sob harder, his body curling around the tiny child to keep her safe from the growing cold. 

The radio host sobbed harder once his husband turned away from him, and he desperately tried to get back to his other side, to allow both of them to wrap around Mia and keep her safe.  
Oh, he'd tried to keep her safe. He'd tried so hard, but he couldn't manage to keep her safe from himself.  
He'd killed her, and the guilt was like a brick wedged between his rips, like something rotting inside the heart that had loved his little girl so fiercely.  
Only one minute.  
He'd been turned around for one minute, getting the damn shampoo for her, not realizing it when her head slipped under the water. Not realizing what had happened to his angel.  
And now he'd never see her smile again, never help her celebrate her first birthday, never argue with her over boys, never--

"Mia.... M-Mia, I'm so sorry..."


	2. Cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Illusions to rape/non-con.  
> Alcohol abuse.

"Sorry."  
Carlos side stepped around his husband, a book in one hand and glass of wine in the other. His gait was slightly unsteady, and after his third trip to the kitchen for a refill it was difficult not to bump into Cecil. Finally maneuvering his way around the radio host, he returned to the couch on the living room and propped his book open, pretending to read it as he nursed his glass.  
The scientist looked considerably older than he had just one year ago. The youthful smile had rotted away, his hair growing disheveled from lack of conditioning and care. Even his cemetery-like teeth were starting to yellow, Carlos trying to keep his visits to the dreaded bathroom as brief as possible.  
Sighing, the messy scientist downed his glass of wine in another two swallows, turning his head back to the kitchen. He was unable to meet Cecil's eye, focusing on the cutting board instead.  
"What's for lunch?"

Cecil kept his own eyes locked on the cutting board as he chopped the celery in front of him in quick, frustrated motions.  
"Celery sticks for myself, another bottle of wine for you, probably."  
A few strands of his own hair were limp and faded, prematurely discolored at the temples, his face solemn as he poured his energy into chopping the vegetables.  
His voice was quiet, the smoothness gone with each note of warning from Station Management and each all-nighter spent pouring over new scripts.  
Piece by piece, he had migrated to sleeping some nights at the station.  
Piece by piece, he avoided the room upstairs that he hadn't had the heart to take apart. The sheets in the crib were lovingly arranged, formula ready next to a bottle on the changing table, cardboard books unread, but ready and waiting.  
Cecil continued to work, flicking his eyes over at his husband for a brief second before turning away and chopping faster.

Carlos opened his mouth, as though about to warn Cecil not to cut himself, but his lips took solace in wrapping around the brim of his glass instead. The quick exchange between husbands was practically a monologue for them both, and he didn't feel anything further needed to be said.  
Humphing a little, Carlos stood up, meandering back into the kitchen to fetch yet another glass of wine. Their small bar was quickly drying up, but Carlos wasn't ever sober enough to drive back to the gas station to replenish their stock.  
Drinking hurt.  
Waking up alone hurt.  
Not talking to Cecil hurt.  
Walking past the nursery hurt even more.  
But the only thing that made any difference in his melancholy mood was the consistent, stinking drowning of alcohol. 

In the year that had passed, Cecil couldn't help but notice how short of a shelf life their supply of alcohol seemed to have, but after a few muttered words of disapproval he'd gone back to burying himself in his work.  
It would only hurt more to look at Carlos, who looked so very much like their daughter had. Her button nose looked exactly like his in his baby pictures, and her smile had looked just like his. She'd been born blessed with a full set of dark brown, unimaginably soft hair, a lock of which Cecil had kept, a pink satin bow tied about it and kept in a soft baggy in Mia's baby book. A final footstep, a first haircut.  
The radio host forced away the thought, wiping the back of his hand across his eyes as he set aside the knife, taking a bite of celery that felt like dust in his mouth. Looked like he wasn’t going to be eating lunch for the fourth day in a row.  
"Carlos, I'll be staying home tonight. Just... thought I'd say so."

His fingers tapping the neck of a bottle, Carlos looked over at Cecil with bloodshot eyes. The eye contact only lasted a moment before he had to glance away, the pain penetrating the wall of haze he was trying to build around himself. Once upon a time, "staying home tonight" meant an evening of cuddling, romance, and whispered promises.  
Now, it meant sharing a bed with a stranger, stewing in uncomfortable silence that made Carlos' throat burn more than any whiskey.  
"I thought you had another all-nighter at the station," he mumbled, walking over to where Cecil was standing and taking a stick of celery for himself. He gnawed on it noisily, eyes reading the label of the bottle over and over again in favor of not looking at his husband.

Cecil shook his head, pushing the rest of the celery over to Carlos and starting his work cleaning the cutting board.  
"I'll be staying here. I might work in my office, and I might not. Not sure yet."  
He could still remember their last attempt at 'staying home'. It had been easily the most awkward sex of his life, about ten minutes of shuffled, passionless kissing and harsh thrusts. Nothing like what they'd had before, when they could both stand to look at each other.  
The blonde had considered moving out permanently to the couch (or even to a new house, if he was being honest with the deepest most shameful part of himself) but something had always stopped him. Perhaps it was some lingering affection, the inability to leave the person who he'd had such a history with, or perhaps just exhaustion that had sunk into his very soul. Either way, he'd stayed, and he doubted he'd leave.

Carlos tapped the granite table for a moment, looking Cecil over, before he pulled another wine glass from the shelf and sat it out next to his.  
He couldn't remember the last time he'd cried. Every night he spent sobbing into his pillow always faded from his memory the next morning, flushed away with the bile and the stomach fluids. Still, the itch to let it all loose was always pressing against his conscious, and the only way to fight against it was to drink himself into a stupor. If he let one seam tear, all the "progress" he'd been making would fall away. Instead, he clung desperately to his cold new life, steadily freezing his husband along with him.  
In what was perhaps his most sober movement of the day, Carlos uncorked the new bottle and filled the two glasses, shoving one towards his tearful husband. Perhaps, with the right sedation, they could get through the night in one piece.

Cecil managed a weak attempt at a smile, taking the glass and staring down at it, sniffing it with a frown before he took a sip. Two years ago, he'd have pretended to know the vintage, doing his best snobbish imitation.  
"It's good. Thank you."  
The blonde glanced at his husband, taking another sips a swiping his fingers under his eyes one last time before he shrugged. What were you even supposed to say in a time like this?  
"You're... you're doing good at the lab?"  
It wasn't much, but it was an attempt, more than he'd tried in months. 

"Fine." The scientist's eyes were watering, but it was purely the sting of alcohol on his lips. He and Cecil hadn't spoken for what felt like years, and to suddenly challenge that cold distance was enough to make Carlos' carefully constructed walls tremble. He was afraid that one wrong word would turn him into the sobbing mess of a grieving father he truly was.  
He looked down at his glass again before downing half the liquid, letting out a deep sigh.  
"Things are fine."

"Yes. Fine."  
Cecil nodded, taking another sip of wine.  
"Things are fine at the station. I think I'm almost over that cold from this morning. Just... fine."  
He shrugged again, setting the wine glass down to begin work again on the cutting board and knife, laying them on the drying rack once he was finished. It was a casual chore, but he was trying his best. That was good enough, yes?  
What was he supposed to be doing that he wasn't?  
Intern Dana had spoken quietly about “talking to someone,” and Cecil had only shook his head, letting his hand rest on her shoulder in a thanks he couldn't verbalize before he left, turning back to hide himself in his office again.

"Glad to hear it," Carlos murmured half-heartedly, looking down at Cecil with cloudy vision. He looked so much weaker than he had a year ago, his movements slow and his body emaciated, but Carlos didn't feel the urge to make a comment. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered, not with the light of his life six feet under in Callous Cemetery.  
"You had a cold?" he murmured, leaning against the counter.

Cecil nodded, setting aside the wine and simply letting his fingertip trace the edge of the glace. "Yeah. Just a bit nauseous. It's fine though, honestly. Dana was very helpful, even coming in the men’s room to help me. Which perhaps she shouldn't have done, but I don't care, and neither does anyone else."  
There was nothing to do now, no more dishes to wash and no more scripts to write. Just Carlos.  
The radio host made an attempt at some show of emotion, forgetting it a moment later.

The scientist looked around the kitchen, trying to find a distraction but failing to find something productive to do. Their shared wine bottle was already running on empty, and he set the glass aside to try and save what little stock they had left.  
This was the part of the evening where Carlos was supposed to cup Cecil's cheek, whispering something sweet and pulling him close... A cold hand reached out to Cecil's cheek out of muscle memory alone, resting against the other man's stubble in stiff, awkward silence. 

Cecil took a sharp breath in, staring up at his husband and almost unsure of what to do. Then, carefully, he leaned his head against the hand, letting his eyes stray closed for a moment.  
This is where he'd tell Carlos how perfect he was, going on and on about his hair or...  
Or...  
"I love you."  
Cecil spoke quietly, emotionlessly, his eyes slowly opening as he brought his own hand up to touch Carlos'. Gently, as if he were about to fade away.

The words took Carlos by surprise, and his eyes widened at the sudden declaration. He knew it shouldn't have been a surprise- he and Cecil had been married for five years, now- but he hadn't heard the promise since--  
Since--  
Carlos swallowed, stepping forward and pulling Cecil up into a short, emotionless kiss. He was doomed to live with the man who had murdered his daughter, forced to love him back, but gods knew he'd never be able to reply with the words Cecil so desperately needed to hear.

Cecil almost bought into it, almost allowed himself to get lost in the bitter, alcohol-laced kiss. His own face was lightly stubbled, and when he brought his hands up he could feel a light beard of neglect growing on his husband's face as well. The kiss was a promise, an offer of forgiveness, of...  
Bullshit.  
Cecil pulled back, frowning and wiping his lips on the back of his hand as he stared up at Carlos. "I'm sorry."  
Sorry for so, so many more things than he'd ever find time to say, sorry for the way his quiet weak words couldn't bear the same emotion as they did over the radio, and sorry for the room upstairs whose owner had left their lives for good.

Carlos took a step back, giving a little grunt of confusion before nodding his head. He... He didn't want things to escalate as they were, what with how unwilling they both were. Instead, he reached over and grabbed at the nearly empty bottle turning to the stairs and gripping the rail for support as he looked back over his shoulder.  
"You can come to bed," he mumbled, his throat scratchy from the alcohol that had stained it. If he was being honest with himself, he wouldn't have minded Cecil spending another evening on the couch.

Cecil had considered that option very seriously for himself, but found himself taking the first few steps up the stairs after Carlos as if they were both in a dream, somehow finding his way up to his husband and laying a hand an inch from the other's back in silent support.  
"You've been drinking too much if you can hardly make it up the stairs like this, and I'm not going to feel sorry for you if you get a hangover tomorrow."  
Of course he would. The radio host knew that, as always, he'd set out a bottle of aspirin on the counter, along with a glass of cold water. 

He mumbled his thanks, knowing all too well Cecil would still be there to take care of him in the morning. Whatever drove his husband along, be it guilt or true devotion, Carlos couldn't bring himself to admit how hopelessly lost he'd be without him.  
 _Without him, your daughter would still be alive._  
Carlos let out a short moan at the thought of his perfect daughter, quickly shoving the memory away again. Sooner than later, the alcohol wouldn't be enough.  
"Thank you," he said as they finally reached their bedroom, setting the bottle aside and collapsing onto their bed.

Cecil nodded wordlessly, pacing away to the walk in closet, undoing the belt to his tunic as he went. There was too much pure exhaustion in his bones to manage to summon up anything like a response. It wasn't worth it, after all.  
Not worth it.  
Now _that_ was something worth thinking about.  
How long before Carlos grew tired of living with a murderer? How long before all the hangover help and silent, guilt filled support stopped being worth it?  
"Carlos, please don't kick me in your sleep like you did last time. You sleep so restlessly..."

"I'm sorry," said the scientist, rolling over in the bed until he was confined to his own side. He hadn't known he'd kicked his love, but it hardly mattered to him now. Their lives were nothing but an endless stream of hurt as it was--one kick didn't make a difference. "I'll sleep over the covers. You under. Problem solved." Problem solved, intimacy avoided.  
Cracking one reddened eye open, Carlos looked over Cecil's body. The man looked dangerously thin, ribs straining against his skin as he hanged up his tunic, but Carlos couldn't bring himself to comment. Instead, he emptily stared at his husband, his thumb playing with his wedding ring absentmindedly.

It wasn't until he was unbuttoning his pants, sliding them off and pulling on a pair of pajama pants, that Cecil noticed his husband's gaze on him. The radio host's jaw tightened considerably, his own gaze hardening as he crossed his arms over his chest, hiding himself as much as he could before he realized what he was doing.  
Hiding from his husband.  
Feeling _ashamed_. Just like always, wallowing in shame and guilt, so much so that what should have been happy or even just _pleasant_ was nothing but plain and irritating.  
"Carlos, you'll only be sleeping on top of the blankets if you get yourself another blanket to keep yourself warm with. You'll get sick if you aren't careful."

Carlos sighed, sitting up and pulling up the comforter to wrap around himself. It was rather cold in their small, empty home, and for a drunken moment he considered wrapping around his husband.  
His husband, who was doing everything in his power to shield himself from Carlos' sight.  
Sighing again, Carlos made a show of yawning and squeezing his eyes shut, turning so his back was facing Cecil's side of the bed. "Alarm time for tomorrow?" he asked plainly, shaking hand reaching for the alarm clock and missing twice. Damn him and his lack of sobriety. 

Cecil, now clothed, shook his head as he climbed next to Carlos, keeping their usual distance. "I'm not going into work tomorrow, I told you that earlier today. Whatever. Just set you usual alarm, and..."  
The radio host paused, taking a long look at his husband before he simply leaned over the other man and picked up the alarm clock. "You're drunk. Just let me do it, alright? And maybe just sit there and think about _not_ getting so drunk in the future?" Briskly, the thinner man set the alarm, placing the clock back on the dresser before looking down at the man he had been leaning against out of necessity, simply staring.

He stared up at his husband in awe, the man made more beautiful only by the spinning and rocking of the bedroom. Idly, for a frozen second, Carlos admired the view, searching Cecil's slightly disgusted face before leaning up and pressing their lips together. It wasn't a motion made out of desire so much as obligation, drunken bravery making the scientist roll over onto his back beneath him. His breath stank of vodka, as it often did these days, his soiled tongue working its way past his lips.  
This was what he was supposed to do, wasn't it?

Cecil stiffly accepted the kiss, pulling back after a moment to take a breath, to look down at his husband.  
Husband.  
The word used to have meaning, years ago before everything turned cold and dead. It had meant something, and it had been special, just like a kiss between them was supposed to be.  
The radio host reached out with a thin arm, clicking the light off with one fluid motion before he climbed fully onto Carlos, straddling him and pressing another desperate, cold lipped kiss to his lips.  
This is what they were supposed to do, yes?

Carlos mechanically placed his hands on Cecil's hips, keeping the loveless kissing going as he rolled his hips upward. He was hardening already, alcohol and physical stimulation banishing all grudges he had against his husband for the time being. Hands tightening on Cecil, the scientist worked Cecil's pajama bottoms down, biting the other man's bottom lip and letting out a weak, short moan.  
Everything was cold.  
Everything was emotionless.  
Everything was fake, finite, and unfocused.

Cecil firmly considered moving away, following his immediate flinching motion once his husband's hands reached into his pants, but moving would have required some sort of conviction that the radio host honestly didn't have.  
So he found himself instead rolling his hips back, kissing with more desperation in an effort to feel _something_ other than grey nothingness. He reached a hand into his own pants, giving himself a few strokes in an effort to get himself to hardness. The examiner found himself removing the rest of his pajama bottoms, the excitement that used to be found in the act completely absent.

A drunken hand fumbled against the dresser. It took him ten full seconds to find the handle and yank the drawer open, and another eight still to grab the lube and pull it out. The cap had crusted onto the bottle from months of disuse, dried moisture sprinkling onto Carlos' chest as he cracked the bottle open. Still, he lathered his fingers in it, moving them to Cecil's backside to work him open. Not speaking, he guided Cecil's free hand to the bottle as well, slathering some over his fingers. Neither of them wanted to go through the intimacy of a blowjob, that was certain. For now, Carlos just wanted to get through this.

Cecil had the same goals, which was why he did his best to help the drunk man under him to find his entrance, rolling his eyes in disgust and blushing.  
He stared as well at his own lube covered fingers, flicking his eyes to them and then back to Carlos, as if to ask, _What do you expect me to do with these?_. Oh, it would have been lovely to have the communication they'd used to have, certainly, but for now all they had was their silence, one that Cecil was loathing to break. 

Lips pressed tightly together, Carlos moved his free hand down to the edge of his boxers, tugging them off just enough to expose himself to the air. Silently, he guided Cecil's hand to his half-hard member, wrapping Cecil's fingers around the cock and guiding him to pump.  
He couldn't have Cecil sucking on his cock. Not now. Last time they'd attempted it, the room was filled with awkward sucking noises and heavy breathing, none of the intimate jargon or touching accompanying the act. 

His face blank, Cecil followed through with the motions, moving his hand mechanically as he worked to please.... no, that wasn't the right word... as he tried to arouse his husband. There was no pleasure in these acts anymore. Cecil had thought about the possibility of Carlos cheating on him, of his husband finding pleasure in someone else's arms. And between their legs. And in their mouth.  
But the radio host could never get himself to care. There simply wasn't anything left in his soul.  
So he continued working away at his husband, finally turning into his side, climbing off of Carlos and laying on his side next to him. There was no way in hell he was doing any act that required too much effort tonight.

Frowning, Carlos rolled over as well, scarred hands guiding Cecil onto his stomach and pulling him up onto his knees. This was the moment he was supposed to tease--to create a loving, exciting atmosphere. And yet, no matter how much he tried, he couldn't find it in himself to care.  
Carlos lined himself up and entered with no more than a grunt, strong fingers holding Cecil's hips in place as he did so. It was wrong, all wrong, but they were married. Sex was _supposed_ to happen. It was their duty.  
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to lose himself to the warm, mindless pleasure the alcohol promised him. 

Underneath him, Cecil gasped, shutting his eyes as he tried to adjust to his husband's length. It had certainly been a while since they'd done something remotely close to sex, and even now...  
It used to be something almost sacred, once, before they had shut the door to the nursery for good, the soft blankets and the unused books gathering dust and fading in color as the days and months dripped by like molasses.  
Was it sacred now? Or even special, fun, loving, or the bonding experience it used to be?  
No. Not anymore.  
Still, it was best to go through the motions, to try and reconnect with what they'd lost ever since that lovingly pink painted door had clicked shut for the last time. So, like the dutiful husband he was, Cecil shifted his position, doing what he could to make the angle better for Carlos. 

At the sudden new angle, Carlos let out a deeper grunt, toes curling behind him as he set a steady, moderate pace. The light _slap slap slap_ of flesh against flesh filled the room, his breathing deepening as he rocked himself forward.  
He could sense Cecil's discomfort more than he could feel it, but he shoved it aside in favor of getting through the awkward sex in one piece. It was far too easy to block out the small noises Cecil was making, months of miscommunication building a barrier between them that Carlos was all too eager to utilize.

Cecil only shifted again, hugging his pillow to his chest and remembering. This used to be different, in the most beautiful of ways. 

_Their wedding night had been soft and delicate, not as passionate or desperate as their meetings had been in the radio tower closet or their bedroom after a long days work. There was no rush, now. No need to hurry, only hours and hours of time, years to rest in one another's arms. They were safe, now._

It had been different and imperfect, just so damn _comforting_. Comforting to know they had each other, that they'd always be together.  
Quietly, Cecil turned his head, peering up sideways at his husband before looking down and away once more, eyes closed.

The brief eye contact with Cecil hurt far more than it had any right to. It penetrated his wall of drunken confidence, some tiny part of him feeling sympathetic for the man beneath him.  
But with the release of emotion, the sorrow started to pour out.  
Quickly, he slammed the mental door shut, blocking out the feelings that threatened to spill over.  
No. If he let one emotion escape, _everything_ would pour out. The anguish, the despair, the broken heart that never really heals after losing a child--everything would swallow him up again. Cold, emotionless affection was all he had left.  
"Cecil," he whispered, voice dry and cracking. It wasn't a loving admiration or a whispered promise, but rather a warning. He wasn't going to fight the orgasm. 

The utterance of his name hurt the radio host more than he thought was possible.  
Where was that crooning, loving tone that his scientist had spoken his name with? Where had that joy of merely being in each other's presence gone?  
Cecil knew.  
He knew perfectly well.  
It had vanished in the minute he'd turned his back on his daughter in the bathtub, the minute she'd gone underwater, the minute that had stolen his most precious person from him, the minute he'd--  
"Carlos?"  
Cecil's voice was numb, his eyes shut tight as he gripped the sheets under him.  
"Carlos, I don't think... Can we stop now?"

The scientist heard him, but he didn't stop.  
Instead, he pressed his cracked lips together, closing his own eyes and tightening his grip on Cecil's waist.  
If they stopped now, it'd only make things worse.  
Carlos had to press on. For both of them. 

"Carlos, I think--"  
Cecil gasped, rolling his hips in an attempt to make whatever the hell they were doing more comfortable, more palatable. It wasn't so much painful as uncomfortable, as though he'd be aching. Muscles in stretched, passionless thrusting doing almost as much harm as the deadness resting and rotting in the both of them.  
"I'm done. I just want to go get a shower, or... or something. I just don't think I..."

"Shh." Carlos reached a strong hand forward, gripping Cecil between the legs and stroking him in time with the harsh, deadened movements. Things were so much easier when Cecil didn't speak. If they could just finish, clean up, and fall asleep in deadened silence, it'd be better than stopping now.  
Easier.  
Emotionless.  
Carlos felt himself twitching, muscles tensing as he readied to release--

"Carlos, I _don't_ \--"  
Cecil came onto Carlos's hand with a gasp, holding his head in his hands and shutting his eyes with a whimper.  
This was the opposite of how things were supposed to be. It was like being in a play, knowing what was to come, following the script that led you deeper and deeper into the woods, closer to no return.  
"I'm so sorry, Carlos, I'm so sorry..."

Carlos ignored Cecil's desperate apologies. He didn't want to dwell on what the radio host was apologizing for. Instead, he moved his messy hand from Cecil's front back to his hip, holding him in place as he continued the harsh motions. It wasn't thirty seconds until the scientist was finishing as well, not bothering to withdraw himself. He couldn't bring it in himself to care.  
Sweaty, the scientist withdrew himself and collapsed to the bed beside his husband, shivering with withheld tears.  
It was all cold.  
All pointless.  
If he allowed himself one speck of emotional joy, he'd fall apart altogether.  
Instead, he let the harsh breathing die down, silence crushing them in the musk-filled room.

Cecil laid still, wrapping one of the blankets loosely around his unclothed body as he forced his own trembling to quell, his eyes screwed shut as he curled himself up tighter.  
He knew how easy it would be to leave now, and his legs stopped feeling like jelly, how easy it would be to just ride off to the radio station to bury himself back in his work like he had done so many times in the past.  
Tonight was supposed to be different.  
In an ideal world, they would have found some way to bridge the gorge that had been dug between them. But that was not meant to be for now.  
"Goodnight, Carlos. I love you."  
His voice was blank, the words mumbled.

He kept his face turned away from his husband, fingers clenching the sheets. He felt the blanket shifting towards Cecil, the blonde wrapping himself into whatever self-proclaimed excuses he could muster.  
Usually, Carlos would be angry. Angry at Cecil for crying again, angry for the useless despair Cecil was subjecting himself to. Things were so much easier, locking them inside and throwing out the key. Mia never crossed his mind anymore, not with the walls Carlos had built around himself. And yet, no matter how much Carlos led by example, Cecil always broke down into an emotional, quivering mess.  
Despite it all, the alcohol was just enough to keep him glued to the pillows, his hand twisting into a fist.  
There wasn't any hope of recovery, was there?  
"'night, Cecil."


	3. Fist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Domestic violence.  
> Next chapter will be longer.

"Carlos, _dear_ , I told you I'm not going into work today! Not like this!"  
The radio host slumped back down onto the fuzzy bathroom rug he'd moved under himself and stared up at the ceiling for a moment before he closed his eyes against a new wave of nausea. He tried to think back, to consider what he'd have done to provoke a week of throwing up. Dana at the radio station had been very helpful, luckily. More than helpful. Covering for him, helping him when he couldn't even get himself motivated enough to record the commercials.  
Sighing, Cecil crawled over to the door of the bathroom, laying down and curling up again in the hallway. "You could at least pretend to care, Carlos."

"I do care," the stubbled man mumbled, stepping over Cecil to get to the bathroom sink. He could feel his hands shaking as he squeezed the toothpaste out of the nearly-empty tube, ignoring the way Cecil's narrow cheeks were tinted green. "This is a stomach bug. Something minor."  
But no. No. Carlos knew. This wasn't something minor at all.  
Taking a deep breath, the scientist glanced up at his wrinkled reflection in the door of the medicine cabinet, grinding the bristles of the toothbrush against his parchment-like teeth. Perhaps, if he could somehow convince Cecil to keep going to work, this would all come out to nothing more than a small virus. The stricter they kept to their pitiful schedules, the easier their lives would be. No surprises, no added stresses.  
"Come on. Stand up. There's some oyster crackers in the pantry. Chew on some of those."

"I used them all up last night, while you were sleeping. Your snoring is so loud, Carlos, and I got hungry, so I ate the rest of the crackers. Maybe you could get me some more...? Or we could... could..."  
Cecil paused, his face pasty as he struggled for words in the face of his ever rising nausea.  
"I think I... Carlos, I'm so sorry, I-"  
The radio host scrambled over to the toilet just in time to lose the rest of his breakfast. All of this was painfully familiar in a way that only made his stomach lurch even more, and--  
No. No thinking, no talking, no trying once again to connect to the man who meant so damn much to him.

If he heard Cecil apologize one more time, he was going to crack the mirror with his fist.  
Taking his time to finish with his teeth, Carlos spat foam and blood down into the drain, rinsing his mouth and splashing his face with water.  
He wasn't going to consider the option. There wasn't any room in his heart to even fathom the possibility. And yet, he still found the words tumbling from his mouth like fallen leaves scraping across asphalt.  
"Have you been craving pickles?"

Cecil froze, leaning his head up and looking at Carlos with a look of confusion, then slowly, realization.  
Quickly enough, he was shaking his head as quickly as he could without risking vomiting again, holding up a hand as if to shush his husband. "Shhhh! Just... Shhh!" The frantic man carefully felt as his stomach with his other hand, dread washing over him like a cold tide.  
Oh, it had been a happy occasion the first time, almost sacred.  
"Shhh... Carlos, l-love, I'm so sorry, I don't-"

"I'm going to the pharmacy tonight," Carlos said, his voice as smooth and cold as sheeted ice. Cecil's hand clutching his stomach was the only answer Carlos needed.  
They'd uproot this problem. They'd dispose of it before it had the chance to break their hearts all over again.  
"I'm going to get you some tests. If they say what I think they'll say, I'll get some emergency medications. We'll be done with this problem tonight. _Tonight._ "

Cecil shook his head again, frowning. "Carlos, I'm sure it's nothing. I'll go to the doctor and we'll see about this virus. That's all it is, a very nasty virus..."  
The blonde somehow managed to haul himself up off of the bathroom floor, ambling over to the sink and rinsing his mouth out before he spoke again. "And why would we get rid of the little one if something... if something happened? Maybe..." Another look at Carlos' expression banished the words, the next sentence dying on his lips. 

_The little one._  
Carlos felt a shiver course through his body at the endearing term, reaching over and grabbing Cecil's wrist in a shackle-like manner. What he hoped to achieve, he wasn't certain, but he had to feel some level of _control_ in the threatening situation. He stood there for a frozen moment, squeezing the fragile bone, before releasing Cecil as suddenly as he'd grabbed him.  
"There is no baby," he growled, his voice more of a warning than a validation. "There never will be. Get dressed for the station. We'll go to the doctor's in the morning."

Cecil gaped for a moment, his eyes wide. "I... I told you, I'm not going in today! I'm sick! I've got a virus, I think, and I don't want to go in or drive like this!" Still, the excuses felt as flimsy as a paper mache shield as he shrank away from that _look_ in Carlos' eyes.  
Something told him not to push it, not to say all that he meant to say. So he found himself rambling, a continuous stream of chatter emerging from his lips as he put his pajama shirt back on over his undershirt. "...and I really think we should let the doctor think about it, after a full day of rest at home with something over the counter... Although I'll be careful not to take anything that might hurt the--"

The sound of skin slapping skin echoed in Carlos' ears, his right arm strained and his palm stinging before he had the chance to register what he had done.  
Cecil's wide purple eyes.  
The growing redness on his cheek.  
Carlos froze. There was a ringing in his ears, the room going dizzy as he realized in what line he'd crossed. Cecil, standing not three feet away, seemed like he was standing on the other end of a great fjord. The taller man fought for breath, lips parting as he stared at his pregnant, overly-emotional husband.  
"...there is no baby..."

Cecil was panting, fighting to control his breath as he backed away, bottom lip wobbling as he stumbled slightly in his motions. He managed to catch himself, placing a steadying hand on the countertop and blinking back tears as he caught sight of himself out of the corner of his eye. Turning slightly to look into the mirror, he felt the first few tears drip down his face at the raised, reddening flesh on his cheek.  
"Carlos...?" His voice was a black hole, void of the stars he loved, void of anything except the crushing sensation in his chest. "Carlos, why did you...?"

Carlos took a staggering step back, his hand still outstretched in front of him. Quickly, he stumbled his way to the door of the bathroom and clung to the frame, blocking the exit until he could think straight. He could feel the tiny tickle of remorse climbing its way up his spine, emotion threatening to split him wide open. But still, staring at Cecil beside that damned bathtub...  
"...I'm sorry." His voice was worn and heavy, like a drape in an abandoned house.

Cecil wiped at his eyes, holding back tears as well as he could. Reddened eyes flicked up to look at the exit, the one perfect, pristine exit blocked off by his husband.  
The one who promised to never hurt him, the person he'd always felt the safest around. Those fists were clutching the sides of the doorway, his one exit unreachable.  
"P-please move. I'm... I..."

"We're not having a baby," Carlos whispered, keeping his grip firm on the frames of the door. Even through his impenetrable lead wall, he could sense he'd done something very, very wrong. It was that same feeling that crept up on him when he left the bunsen burner on or forgot to check the sample fridge. He'd done something terrible, something that needed to be fixed immediately.  
"...Cecil. Cecil, look at me. We're going to fix this. We'll go to the doctor tomorrow, and we'll get it out. Everything will be--"  
 _Not fine. Not fine. You just hit your husband. Not fine at all._  
"--just as it was before. None of this will have ever happened."

Shaking his head, tears finally escaping down his thin cheeks, Cecil backed up until he was up against the counter. One hand reached to touch the porcelain of the counter, searching for something to hold tight in case his shaking legs gave out.  
"Carlos, love..." His voice was quiet when he spoke up next, nothing like his usual caramel tones. Choking back a sob, Cecil let his other hand stray to his stomach again, slipping under his shirt and resting on the slight swell starting to grow there as he forced a watery smile. "M-maybe we're overreacting. We'll do a test, y-you'll think about it, and... and you'll love the baby too!"

Carlos' eyes flickered one shade darker, looking over the trembling man and swallowing down an emotional apology. There wasn't any room for sentiments here. Not where his daughter had drowned. "You're right," he said, voice low and cautionary. He still kept himself braced in the doorway, each word as delicately placed as a footstep on a frozen pond. "I will love it. I'll love it more than I've ever loved anything or anyone." He took one slow stride forward, broad body still occupying the vast majority of the bathroom space.  
"But that's the problem."

A sob finally escaping him, Cecil looked away, his posture hunched and the hand around his middle growing almost protective in its stance. The radio host's other hand was on his own face in a moment, covering his mouth as he cried.  
"C-Carlos, I'm... I'm not asking you t-to love me, I promise. I k-know you d-don't love me! But I _can't_ get rid of it! I love it! And... and I'll be a good mom this time! I'm g-going to go to parenting c-classes, and I'll..."

"You'll get rid of it," Carlos interrupted, ignoring the tears he once kissed from his beloved's cheeks.  
Did he love Cecil anymore? The man who always insisted to jump to emotion before all else? The brittle, broken mother who could never pull himself back together?  
"That baby's going to be gone, regardless of what we try. A day from now or a year from tomorrow, it's going to be under the sand." He took another step forward--another step towards his husband, another step towards his growing child, another step towards his baby girl's bubble-bath guillotine. "No number of parenting classes is going to change what we are, Cecil. We're destructive. We'll consume whatever comes into this house. Better now than later."

" _No!_ "  
Cecil spoke up in a snarl, the tear tracks on his face wiped away by the back of his hand as he took a hesitant, shaking step forward towards the more intimidating man. "I love the little one, Carlos! And you... you... I'm not going to let you t-try and say those horrible, horrible things! Just _stop!_ "  
He let out a shaking breath, his spare hand rubbing his lower stomach where his child was growing.  
"Please, Carlos, we need another chance!"

Carlos stared at Cecil for another moment, nostrils flaring, before he reached forcefully forward and yanked Cecil's hand away from his abdomen in a flash of movement. He held it up by the radio host's face, muscles taut and grip crushing. "Is that what you think a baby is, Cecil? Another _chance?_ " He didn't even realize how his voice rose, the shouts echoing off the tiled walls around them. "A baby is a promise of a better tomorrow--a promise you _broke!_ We don't _get_ another chance! We can't raise a baby, and we never will! So drop this- this _fantasy_ and _look at us!_ "

"You're _hurting me!_ "  
Cecil gave a whimper, shaking his head fiercely and doing his best to back away again, his face wet and blotchy with tears as he tried to tug his hand out of the tight grip. It would bruise, certainly, and a cry of pain escaped the radio host's lips.  
"C-Carlos, love, I never thought that... that the new baby c-could replace my angel, my beautiful M-"

"Mia's _dead!_ "  
His free hand flew again, catching Cecil in the stomach. Even in that split moment of contact he recognized the hardness of the flesh, the protective layer of muscle forming over the deceivingly promising child. It made his vision go red, stepping forward again as saliva splattered Cecil's face. "She's dead, and you _killed her! You_ destroyed this family! _You_ drowned my baby girl! You- _You--!_ "

" _No! Carlos, no! Stop it!_ "  
Cecil could hardly register that he was the one screaming the words as he dropped like a stone, quickly curling up with his back to Carlos, knees pulled up to his chest and arms wrapped around them in turn as he did his best to protect the small cells growing inside of him.  
He was sobbing, his eyes squeezed shut as he tried to make himself smaller, pain blossoming in his stomach, wrist, and face. "N-No..."

Carlos took a step forward, his sweaty curls framing his face as he stared down at the murderer. His fists were clenched at his sides, his chest heaving and his posture straight. Cecil couldn't take care of another child. Somehow, some way, he'd spoil it. His emotions would get the better of him and he’d pull them apart all over again. Carlos couldn't afford another heartbreak, and he was done treading water in Cecil's tears. "We're going to the doctor's tomorrow," he growled over Cecil's whimpers, the vein in his neck throbbing. "And we're getting _it_ removed. That’s final."

Shaking and curling up tighter, Cecil didn't respond, his small noises of pain and sorrow filling the small bathroom. It was no use saying he'd prepared for something like this, for if they'd ever wanted to try again. Child care books carefully dog eared and bookmarked, hidden in the secret drawer in his desk at work, the instructions and suggestions carefully mapped out and written down by nervous, loving hands.  
There was no way in hell he was going to pass up an opportunity to try again, no matter how much it burned like a dagger in his heart.  
"I'm sorry, Carlos. I'm s-so sorry..."

The scientist turned around and flicked the light off, his back to his husband and the cursed bathtub. "We're done discussing this," he murmured over his shoulder, pausing for one moment more before slamming the bathroom door closed, leaving Cecil in darkness.  
He had to get Cecil taken care of.  
He had to uproot the weed before it festered.  
Mechanically, the taller man picked up his phone, dialing in a number he couldn't help but memorize after countless instances of minor colds, little hiccups, and abundant paranoia.  
Now, his fingers were heavy, sentencing his child to its grave in place of planning another vaccination.  
At least he'd save the heartache.  
Clearing his throat of any tears that threatened to spill, Carlos pressed the phone up to his sweaty curls. "Dr. Jacobson? Yes, Carlos Ramón. I'd like to make an appointment."


	4. New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mention of domestic violence.

Cecil Palmer had never been a fan of Charles Dickens.   
However, Great Expectations would always have a special place in his heart.  
There was something so transfixing about the idea of a small old lady clad in a decaying wedding gown as the world around her gathered dust. It was eternity, locked in a room of stale cake, dead flowers, and tattered cobwebs.   
The story had become a small candle, burning at him as he sat in the examination room of the doctor's office. But this eternity, the same as so many years ago, was harsh in its calming colors, familiar waiting, and the ultrasound machine humming in the corner. He glanced again at Carlos, offering up a small flicker of a smile in an attempt to communicate without guilt and shame.

 

Carlos observed Cecil's glance for a moment, transfixed, before he turned his stony glare to the small black and white screen in the corner.  
"And how are we today, Mr. Palmer?" the nurse asked, preparing the machine and setting the scoping device out on a small metal table. Soft manicured hands gently lifted Cecil's patterned shirt, folding it neatly across his upper torso. Her gaze was momentarily distracted as she readied the machine, not noticing the angry bruises forming over the developing baby bump.   
"We're fine," Carlos interjected, a falsely loving hand taking Cecil's fingers in a tight grip. They were going to get tested, remove the tumor, and go home. Carlos had made it clear that was all he would allow. "We're just fine. Aren't we, Amado?"

 

The radio host found himself nodding, his face carefully composed and his grip on Carlos's hand loose.   
Mia had been so beautiful on the ultrasound screen--tiny feet, tiny hands, and a tiny little body all curled up neatly inside of him. She'd grown right on time, meeting all of her milestones, and her warm chocolate eyes were the most stunning sight that Cecil had ever seen.  
Perhaps he could pretend.   
Carlos would never hurt him, and his baby girl was waiting for him at home with a coo and a smile. His job brought him joy and he was happy after so many years of uncertainty.   
Turning to look at the love of his--... to look at Carlos, Cecil forced the corners of his mouth to turn upwards in something like a smile, without the joy and serenity the act normally held. "Nurse Jenny, things are wonderful. Aside from the nausea, I'm feeling great."

"A little nausea is perfectly normal," Nurse Jenny replied, smiling down at the expectant mother. Slathering her gloved hands in ultrasound gel, she let her eyes flicker to Cecil's abdomen.  
Her eyes darkened, her lips a pale line. "Mr. Palmer?"   
Carlos' eyes were unchanging, staring up at the nurse with an almost challenging expression. "What seems to be the issue, Nurse?"  
Jenny removed one of her gelled gloves, pressing a washed hand gently to the Pollock-like work on Cecil's stomach. He was splattered with blacks and purples, straining with every breath he took. "Mr. Palmer, what happened?"  
Carlos' grip on Cecil's hand tightened even further.

Cecil wasn't sure whether the sound of pain leaving him was due to the agony growing in his hand, or the way the nurse's gentle touches skirted past the darker of the bruises on his stomach. Still, both sensations set him into action, drawing up his best ditzy, love-struck smile. Directed at the dear Nurse Jenny, naturally. Lord only knew what was growing in Carlos' eyes even as they sat there in that overly cheerful, forever preserved room.   
"Jenny, you would not _believe_ how this happened!" He started off with a chuckle and a sigh, running his thumb along Carlos' knuckles in an attempt to sooth him. "See, my brave boyfriend did me the honor of helping me fulfill one of my lifelong dreams. Ice sculpting! But I forgot that it's _ice_ sculpting, and how one should wear more... more appropriate footwear than cowboy boots, and I may have slipped rather badly. Landed right on the tools, right on my stomach. How embarrassing!" 

 

Nurse Jenny's eyes glanced between the two men, laughing nervously at the obvious lie, before she squeezed another layer of gel onto her gloved hand. "Well, Mr. Palmer, we'll be sure to keep you as comfortable as possible. You may feel a slight tingle, but..." She went silent as the cold device met Cecil's skin, staring at the black and white screen. Even Carlos found himself leaning forward in his chair, trying to make sense of the snowstorm on the screen. Still, only Nurse Jenny could tell what the small white mass on the right of the screen was, tiny and helpless in its mother's womb.  
"Mr. Palmer, Mr. Ramón, congratulations!"  
Carlos heard Cecil gasp.   
He felt his own arm tensing up.   
"What do you mean, congratulations?" Carlos asked, voice stiff.   
"See for yourself. There it is." The nurse reached forward with a free hand and pressed her finger to the screen, rolling it so the parents could see. The bundle of cells was minuscule, no larger than a grape on the screen.   
But it was there. 

It was there, beautiful and oh so delicate, like all the hope in the world formed into a few tiny cells.   
Cells that would grow, divide, multiply, and _grow_ until they had formed into something stunningly human. Cecil found himself smiling despite himself and the hand gripping his fingers far too tightly. But to squirm away, to guard his stomach, would be to betray Carlos.  
Betray Carlos.  
If one of his hard working (if not slightly replaceable) interns had come to him with such a dilemma, with a child in their belly and bruises on their skin, he'd have told them to go to the police. Hell, he'd have called them himself. But Carlos was _different_.   
They'd have to have a Talk.   
A long one, too.  
For now though, Cecil gripped Carlos' hand back and pretended with all his might that the strong grip was one of love. Carlos would carry him over the threshold of their home like he'd done when they'd first bought the damn place. It would all be perfectly imperfect, in the best of ways, and the child in him would be one that was _loved_.  
A slender hand laid itself on his stomach, Cecil's eyes still glued to the screen as his lips tugged into a sorrowful smile.   
"She's _beautiful_..."

Carlos nearly shot up from his seat at Cecil's whispered comment, red eyes flickering to Cecil's softened, motherly expression. The man was giving into his emotions, as always, and if Carlos didn't act soon they'd never get their lives back together. Continuing to stare at his husband, Carlos moved his wheeled chair closer to Cecil, almost looking over him.   
"Nurse Jenny?"  
The woman paused, the device on Cecil's stomach still. She could sense the tension in the room. "Yes, Mr. Ramón?"  
"What are our ulterior options?"   
The clock in the corner of the room had stopped long ago, the silence impossibly loud, outweighing the gentle purr of the ultrasound machine.   
"Excuse me?"  
"You heard me. What can we do to get this taken care of? Should we act now? What's safest for Cecil?"

Brow furrowing with worry, Cecil shook his head, finally turning away from the image on the screen, looking over at the nurse. "I'm so sorry, Nurse Jenny. My husband is just... he's just a little anxious. I would... I'd love to keep the child, and I would definitely love to talk to you about..."  
A glance up at his husband, his mouth going dry for a moment and his heart fluttering at the expression his brave scientist wore.   
This was not his husband.  
"...about vitamins, and going to parenting classes. Like, about how to really do a good job protecting them. And Carlos, honey, please don't be rude to the nurse."

Nurse Jenny frowned at the arguing men, bowing her head and checking her watch. She had another consultation in half an hour, and she wasn't going to get anywhere with the husbands fighting. "I'm going to go and print these photos out," she said quietly. Best to let them work the contradicting viewpoints out on their own, without outside influences. "Something to add to your refrigerator. I'll be back with you gentlemen momentarily." Giving one last small smile, the woman disappeared, quietly clicking the door closed behind her.   
"We talked about this, Cecil," Carlos murmured, his stare unfaltering. He should have known Cecil would take advantage of the required formal politeness of the doctor's appointment. "Maybe sooner we get rid of it, the better. It's nothing more than a bundle of cells."

The radio host seemed like he was about to back down, to succumb to the gaze of his husband, when something in him hardened as well. He sat up, the pain from last night's fight only fueling him further.  
"Carlos Ramon, we are _keeping_ this child. You know perfectly well that I agree with you about abortion. Yes, she's cells right now, but she's cells that I honestly want, and cells that I love! You're turning this into one of your science-y debates, when the problem is that _you don't want another child._ You're afraid, but there's nothing to be afraid of! We're going to love her, and care for her, and... and..." Sighing, Cecil grabbed Carlos' hand, pressing it to his still sticky stomach. "Carlos, it's okay to be scared. I'm terrified right now, for a lot of reasons, but we'll hire a live in nurse to help, and it's going to work this time!"

His hand tightened on the sticky skin, the scientist scowling at the developing hardness to Cecil’s stomach. Once again, Cecil was surrendering logic to meaningless emotion. "Stop calling it a _her!_ It's unconscious, it's unaware, and it's easily removed right now! We have no business trying to raise another child!" The man's free hand grabbed at Cecil's wrist, yanking it away from his stomach. His fingers dug into the same grooves as the night before, squeezing over the bruises. "Do you want to go through it all again, Cecil? Really? Baby pictures, doctor's appointments, Mommy and Me? Black suits? Crying families? Funeral arrangements? Is that what you want? Because all this child is going to bring is another opportunity for us to fai--!"

"You're _hurting me!_ Just... Just..." Cecil put a hand over his mouth, trying to muffle the cries of pain spilling from his lips as he closed his eyes. His words were fast, his entire body leaning away from his husband while still hunched to protect the beginnings of his child. "Carlos, yes, she can't feel or think or anything yet, and I agree with you about that, but I still want her more than anything! I... I've been studying how... how to really take care of a child. I've even talked to other people, asking how they did with their children! I'm ready this time, so please just stop saying all those awful, terrible things! Just _stop!_ And... and oh god, Carlos, my _arm_..."

"You've been _planning this?_ " Carlos hissed, not releasing Cecil's arm. There was only one way to make the oblivious man listen. After a year of gentle suggestions, firm instruction, and spellbinding silence, the only option Carlos had left was pure force. Nothing else would stop the man from sneaking behind his back, going through parenting books and attending PTA meetings without Carlos' permission. "Did you stop taking your pills? Have you been poking holes in the condoms? I swear, if you've been trying to get yourself pregnant without telling me--!"

"It's nothing like that! But you haven't even been wearing condoms the last few times, Carlos, and I told you last week that I needed a new prescription for the pills. It all sort of got away from me, and last time we did it..."  
Cecil gazed up at Carlos with something like resentment, an emotion that a few years ago he'd never thought he'd associate with his husband. "The... the thing is, I have really wanted another child, another beautiful little girl. I would never try to trick you though, honestly! Never! You're... I know it's been rough lately, and... and Carlos, you've got to let go of me! God, that hurts! You're holding too tight!"

 

His grip tightened for a moment, Cecil's skin going white, before he tossed the wrist away and crossed his arms in front of his chest. He ignored the way his husband recoiled, jaw tight and shoulders set. "You know what hurts? Forcing me into this position. Forcing me to be a father again. We've had our perfect daughter, Cecil, and she... she..."  
Suddenly, Carlos' hardened composition seemed to crumble, Mia's giggling face flashing in his memory. He remembered when he brought her tiny body up to his shoulder to burp her, patting her back. While he sang his Spanish lullaby, the little girl pressed her mouth against his stubbled cheek, moving her lips against his scratchy skin in something almost like a kiss.   
"...she's gone," he finished, his left cheek tingling. His eyes were threatening to well over, a tiny spark of humanity showing for the first time since Mia's death. 

Sorrow overtaking Cecil's expression at the sight of his husband in such a state, he was on his feet in a moment, arms wrapped around the other man. One hand gently went to the back of Carlos's head, fingers threading in his hair, lips pressed to a cheek in an attempt to kiss away the oncoming tears lurking in Carlos' shattered gaze.   
"Shhh, I've got you... Carlos, we could never find another child like Mia, and I never want to try. We... this is going to be hard for all of us, but we're... w-we're going to have a brand new child. Not a replacement. _Never_ a replacement." His own eyes brimmed with tears from the ache in his limbs and the hole in his soul that had grown a little bit more each and every day since Mia had left them.  
Or, rather...  
Since he'd been careless and irresponsible enough to--  
He'd tried so damn hard.  
This is where Carlos would have been there for him. He'd gone forward with all the optimism he had left.  
"I love you, Carlos. J-just let it out..."

Carlos shivered as Cecil kissed his cheek, turning his face away and wiping the single tear onto the radio host's blazer. He couldn't. He couldn't let himself break now.  
Puffing out his chest and forcing himself to take a step back, Carlos closed his eyes. There was no Mia. There was no drowning. There was only this cancer inside of Cecil--this cancer that had to be removed at all costs. He couldn't let himself crumble.  
He wiped his cheek with his coarse lab coat sleeve, hardness steadily replenishing itself over his emotions. "She's gone," he whispered again, shaking his hair out in an attempt to forget how Cecil had cupped it so lovingly. "Mia is- She's gone. She's gone, and we need to move on. We're not going to try to raise another child to get yourselves back on our feet."

Cecil sat back down on the examining table, staring quietly at the clock in the top center of the wall. The decrepit, broken thing was out of place in the soft pastels of the room, its hands still and unmoving. It had proclaimed the time to be 1:37 PM when they'd come into the room, and it insisted that it was 1:37 PM even now.   
No time passed in this room.   
"You can talk to me, Carlos."   
Cecil spoke quietly, inspecting the purple and black bruising around his arm. "I need you to talk to me, to open up like you just did. And for the record, I think... well, I think this new child is exactly that. New. A bright future, and a good opportunity. So... maybe you could think about it?"

"The longer we 'think about it,' the bigger it's going to get." He stared back down at Cecil, not breaking eye contact as he tugged the other man's brightly colored shirt up and over his stomach and wiped his abdomen off with a harsh, brown paper towel. The liquid was sticky and unpleasant to the touch, clinging to Carlos' fingers as he cleaned his husband. "I don't need to talk about the dilemma. There isn't anything left to discuss. You and I aren't fit to raise a child. It would be unfair to the fetus."

Wincing at the roughness of the other man's touches with the paper towel, Cecil found himself shakily returning the other's gaze. Slowly, he found his eyes narrowing as something akin to anger began to blossom in his with every cry of pain he held in at each agonizing rub of paper towel over his bruised abdomen. Quickly, he scrambled to grab onto Carlos's hand, to take the towel from him.  
"Well, I... I'm putting my foot down. It's my body, and I'm having the child. She's going to be a new beginning, just like I said! Carlos, we have another chance being thrown our way, and it would be so _stupid_ to just toss it away!"

Carlos tore his hand from Cecil's, ultrasound liquid dripping from his fingers. The scientist bit his lip and looked down at his digits, his eyes resting on his wedding ring as if he was in deep contemplation.

Sighing, Cecil took the paper towel and began to gently clean away the goo from his husband's hand. "Carlos, just think about it. Just... I love you."  
The words that had been so lovingly spoken in previous years sounded flat to Cecil's ears, the false promises leaving footprints in his tone.  
"And I want our... our little one... I want her to be with us. Think about it." 

"Nothing I say is going to make you change your mind, is it?" Carlos whispered, watching as Cecil lovingly cleaned his hand. The act made his stomach turn, but he didn't allow his discomfort to show. His eyes were red enough already. "You're going to have this baby with or without my consent. You're going to force me to be a father."  
 _Again._   
"I hope you're happy. I hope you know what world you're bringing this child into. Think about _that,_ Cecil. Try to see through your selfishness and thirst for salvation."

 

The radio host was somber, his expression carefully reserved as he cleaned the hands that had bruised his body and clouded his skin. "I... I don't think... I'm not being selfish, Carlos. We need to work together if we want to last. And I think having this child would really help us. She's not going to be a replacement. Just a new opportunity, a new person in our lives to love."  
Somehow, the man managed a smile, the motion hollow as he wiped the last of the ultrasound gel, wiping his own clean hand under his eyes, delicately removing the moisture left under them. 

He didn't have a say in the matter, did he?  
The scientist frowned and looked away, staring down at his hands. During Mia's pregnancy, Cecil had been nothing but public, sharing ultrasound photos on his blog and giggling on the air with every little kick. The entire town had been with them every step of the way, and while Carlos hadn't minded the attention beforehand, the funeral was...  
Well. It was attended by everyone.  
Carlos remembered standing shoulder to shoulder with people who'd never even seen his little girl's smile, struggling to keep near the hole with the tiny pink coffin inside. There had been unwelcome crying and mourning from all around, only amplifying the loss.  
If things went wrong again...  
"You can't say a word. Not a _word_. I'm not agreeing to this pregnancy, Cecil, but you can't tell anyone about this. Not until we're sure _it_ is healthy. _If_ we get that far, hypothetically. If you haven't changed your mind."

Nodding earnestly, Cecil let his hand rub across his stomach again, almost cradling the tiny life he could practically feel growing.   
Their little one was a being of potential, of hope.  
"I won't tell anyone, Carlos. I promise."

\-------

"...but the most touching reunion of all was between the tapir and her young. Ah, little ones... Which reminds me! Night Vale, I have some thrilling news! I'm not supposed to say anything yet, although... Listeners, I don't think Carlos actually listens to my show anymore. Which is fine, it doesn't bother me. But no one can say a word about what I'm going to tell you all, alright? Especially not to Carlos! Dear Listeners... I'm pregnant! Isn't it just magical?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapters coming as soon as possible, schoolwork permitting!
> 
> -M <3


	5. thump

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Domestic violence. Abortion. Alcohol abuse. Verbal abuse.

"Congratulations!"  
"I... thank you?"  
"Hey, Carlos! Nailed it!"  
"Nailed what?"  
"When's the big day?"  
"I don't understand."  
Carlos turned from his microscope to the many scientists gathered around his station. Many of them were holding various snacks and drinks, having just flooded from the break room.   
"What are you all on about?" the chief scientist asked. He'd aged considerably in the past three months, arguing with Cecil every night in hopes of removing the growing bulge. Still, he woke up almost every night, roused by Cecil's humming and whispering as he rubbed his stomach. "What's going on?"

"Aw, come on, Carlos! You know what we mean!" One of the interns grinned, jerking his hips forward with raised eyebrows. "Cecil's a good guy, and we're seriously excited for you!"  
The rest of the scientists continued munching on their snacks and chatting away, seemingly oblivious to Carlos' confusion.   
"Dude, we're all really thinking about both of you right now, and we've even been talking about putting together a little something for you guys. Maybe enough for a carriage!"  
A pair of eyes rolled, a few scientists groaning.  
"That was supposed to be a _surprise!_ Carlos, just forget you heard that, and focus on that little girl of yours. That's what Cecil said it would be, anyway."  
"What, you think Cecil's wrong?"  
"I never said that, Johnson. I just said there may be..."  
"They already know what gender it is, I think. For sure. Pretty sure."

The scientist went still, taking in the many chatting and smiling faces, before he turned around and switched his microscope off with stiff fingers.   
He should have known.  
Cecil and Carlos were practically celebrities in the small town. The second one man knew, every citizen of Night Vale would be gossiping about the Voice's "second chance." There was no way Cecil would let him orchestrate an abortion now.  
"Thank you," he said under his breath, slipping his gloved hands into his pockets to hide his clenched fists. His eyes were practically radiating heat, eerily contrasting the forced smile on his face. He almost looked like a madman, smiling to himself behind institution bars. "But we're not certain of the gender yet." The threatening gaze turned to the intern. "Where did you hear about this? On the radio?”

The intern's grin turned to a look of confusion as he subtly did his best to give Carlos some room. "Yeah. He, um... Cecil said that it was a secret, and we're supposed to not talk about it, but it's so exciting! And... And... Um, did you not know Cecil said something? We all assumed you were in on it..."  
The young man paused, seeming to realize mid-word that the other scientist was looking decidedly homicidal.   
"But seriously, we're all excited for you!" A middle aged man grinned, wiping his crumb covered hands on his pants. "You've gotta let us know when you decide what to call her, okay? We all want to be uncles, and we've already started to getting a little collection going for you. It's nothing much, don't worry. Seriously, what's up? You wanted to keep the whole kid thing under wraps?"

_Under wraps?_  
Carlos slowly started removing his lab coat, revealing his tightened arms and strenuous posture. He disposed of the article of clothing on the table, starting to load his items into his satchel. He had to get home. Cecil needed a talking to when he was done with his broadcast. "We were going to wait until we were certain _it_ was healthy," Carlos murmured, cutting through the gathered scientists to gather his pens from the other table. Despite his brisk and tense walking, he was still smiling like a maniac. "But why not? It's great news! Fantastic news! Hell, the whole town should know!"

Be home in half an hour. -CR

"Alright, _uncles,_ back to work! I'll take care of the baby shower! I'll order the cake!"

Exchanging glances, the scientists seemed to come to a collective decision not to argue with the father-to-be, who seemed ready to explode.  
"Sounds good, Carlos."  
"Give Cecil our regards, and--"  
"Tell him about the collection for the baby, and that we send--"  
"Is everything okay, boss? You're not looking too great."  
"Leave him alone, Andrew. Just let him--"  
"Hey, Carlos! Make sure you get a lot of rest now, right? Because babies are _loud_. I mean, you know already, but still."  
"Shut up, George! No one wants to hear you--"  
The scientists chattered like a flock of birds, almost blocking out the noise of Carlos' phone's text alert.

Hey. That sounds great! I'll see you soon for dinner. (Saffron sauce spaghetti and meatballs!) -CP

"Cecil?" Carlos slammed the door of their apartment closed behind him, shouting at the stairs. He didn't even bother trying to mask his anger, the comments and chatter of the scientists still echoing in his ears.   
_We're seriously excited for you!  
Nailed it!  
We all want to be uncles!  
Babies are_ loud.  
" _Cecil!_ " This time, he practically screamed the name, his throat nearly tearing from the yelling. He took a step forward into their house, looking down when he felt his foot kick something into the corner. There was a rattle on the floor filled with dried fly carcasses, signed with love from the Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lived In Their Home.  
She'd even remembered to tie a tiny pink ribbon around the handle.  
Spots were clouding Carlos' vision. The house smelled like rotten milk. The air conditioner sounded like screams of a child. The rattle in his hand sounded like the crunching of--

"Carlos! Carlos, stop!"  
Cecil stood at the top of the stairs, one hand cupped over his mouth in fear. He'd worked hard to ice his bruises as well as he could, but the mere noise coming from downstairs had sent a total wave of pain through them as if remembering how they'd gotten into his body.  
Slowly, Cecil took a step forward, his hand moving away from his mouth and down to cup his swollen stomach. "My beautiful, perfect Carlos, just.... T-That's from the Faceless Old Woman. She... she loves the little one, so please don't break it! It's the first gift we've gotten for our new angel, and I--"  
Cecil cut himself off, slowly beginning to take a step backwards, edging towards the bedroom. They had a lock on the door, and it would be simple enough to wait out his husband's temper... 

Carlos' eyes flickered up to his husband, matching Cecil's step backward with an approach of his own. "Cecil," he growled, staring at Cecil like a dog would stare at a bone. His husband wasn't going to betray his trust again. He'd make sure of it.  
"Tell me you didn't say something on the radio. Go on. Tell me." One hand moved to the base of the rattle, the other cupping the ball. He bent the plastic dangerously, the off-white material stretching in his deathly grip. "Tell me you didn't announce 'our little girl.' I know you wouldn't break my trust like that, would you? You wouldn't know a thing about the carriage the boys at the lab are getting us." He smiled, but his eyes showed the rage he held in his heart. "Come now, Cecilito. For a radio host, you're awfully quiet. Come on. Open that big mouth of yours and tell me you didn't."

There were a great many things Cecil Palmer wished to say.   
So many, many, many things. Starting, perhaps, with the overwhelming joy of having another child growing in his belly again. Carlos hasn't commented, but Cecil had very carefully taken picture after picture, relishing in the "healthy glow" he'd swore to himself had become apparent in his face.   
But sorrow always followed joy, like the burning desert sun chasing the calmness of the moon. Who else did he have to talk to, other than all of Night Vale? Night Vale, always listening, always sending in their comments and questions. Always a kind, listening ear.  
All of that would have taken Cecil too long to speak.  
It would take a devastating amount of time, all spent vulnerable under that terror of a gaze.  
So simply, Cecil ran. 

_Snap!_  
Carlos threw the broken rattle behind him, rushing to the stairs and tripping over the bottom step in his haste. Still, he scrambled to his feet, screaming Cecil's name again as the radio host darted down the hallway. His footsteps were like thunder against the cheap wooden stairs. He was like a puppet suspended on strings of anger, mindlessly following whatever tragic force had overtaken him one year before.  
"Cecil, get back here! _Cecil!_ " As he reached the top of the stairs, he spotted the blonde man darting for their bedroom, racing past the nursery door without so much as a second glance. He let out one last mighty shout before the door slammed, throwing his body against the woodwork. Trembling hands flew to the door handle, squeezing the locked door knob as he slammed his shoulder against the door again.   
"Cecil, let me in!"

The slam of Carlos' shoulder against the door was punctuated by a scream of fright from Cecil, the man sinking to the ground in front of the door, back braced against the wood as if he could hold it in place all by himself.   
"Carlos..." Eye squeezed shut with fear, Cecil drew his arms around his stomach, guarding the fetus he depended on so very much. "I'm not... I won't let you in until you calm down! Like... Gods, stop it! Stop it!... I know you're mad now, but talk to me in an hour or so, when you... when you've calmed down, and we'll talk about this like rational adults! I promise, we'll figure this out if you just stop it!"

The door rattled on its hinges three more times before the growling on the other end subsided. A decaying silence took place of Carlos' banging, a deafening nothing echoing off the walls.   
Then, slowly, the silence was broken.   
Carlos was sobbing on the other end of the door, smiling as he did so. He couldn't stop himself from shaking his head, bringing shaking hands up to his eyes and rubbing under his glasses.   
"Why are you doing this?" Carlos moaned, forcing himself to grin. It was like he was trying to stop the tears from flowing, failing as the drops slid down his stubbled cheeks. "Why can't you do what's best for us, Cecil? Now we can't... It's going to... I can't have another child, Cecil. You're being so selfish..."

Inside the room, Cecil slowly uncurled, his voice subdued.   
"Carlos, my sun and my moon, I... I never meant to be selfish. We... this child was an accident, I promise. I never poked holes in the condoms or stopped taking my pills. You're usually too drunk to care... Sorry, but it's true."  
Slowly, the door was unlocked and opened, Cecil opening it up just a crack to allow himself to survey what was happening.  
"But I _am_ doing what's best for us. We should take this opportunity to love the little one, and..."

"I'm not going to be able to love it." His words were like hail, icy and heavy. "Never, Cecil. Don't you understand that? If you bring this thing into the world, you're bringing it to a graveyard. What are you going to say when it tries to open the nursery? When it asks why Mommy buys a pink cupcake every June 22nd? What are you going to tell it then? We can't do this." Carlos turned his head a little, looking back down towards the kitchen. He was still an emotional tornado, breathing too heavily to notice the opened door. If anything, his mind was on the bottle of bourbon downstairs.   
"Do everyone a favor, Cecil. Kill it now before you drown it later."

Cecil's grip on the doorknob tightened, his eyes welling up at each word. The radio host was at a loss for words, long fingers carefully wiping away any stray moisture on his face as he let the door silently swing open. The man's composure and face seemed to bend and age, as if supporting too heavy a burden. Guilt knew and bit him him as he went along his lonely path, a path he'd expected to traverse with the most important person in his world.   
Sniffing quietly, a small choked noise escaping him, Cecil sat back down next to his husband, laying his cheek on the scientist's shoulder and shutting his dripping eyes. "C-Carlos, I _never_... You've g-got to know I d-didn't mean t-to... to hurt anyone... She was my baby, the light of my... my life, and I m-miss her every damn day, and..."

"Where is she now?" Carlos asked, his voice muted. He didn't respond to the head leaning on his shoulder, waiting like a flytrap with its mouth wide open. Still, he side-eyed the man leaning against him, one tear disappearing into Cecil's hair. Every word he uttered grew softer, like a lion slowing to crouch before pouncing at its prey. "Where is this ‘light of your life?’ Tell me, Cecil. Where do you think this fetus is going to be in three months? Twelve? Twenty-four?" He paused. "One month, one week, and six days? Am I going to be wearing that suit again?"

Shaking his head and digging back a sob, Cecil moved himself to sit in front of his husband, a tearful, weak smile forced on his face. "Carlos, love, I... I promise you right now that it won't be like last time. We'll love her, we'll take care of her right, and... and I'll get a nurse or a nanny to help me! They'll teach me how to take care of her, and I'll be a good mother! The best mother! And you'll get to see her grow up."  
Cecil leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to the bridge of Carlos' nose before leaning back again, taking the man's hands in his own gentle grip. "We'll see her graduate school, and she'll go to prom, and she'll go to college, and--"

Carlos was starting to remember why he'd chased Cecil up the stairs.   
The moment Cecil had taken his hands, his grip had tightened, ensnaring him. "She's not going to make it, Cecil. Something is going to go wrong. Something is going to kill her. As it is, even if she somehow did survive, she'd be the most miserable daughter in the United States. I'd try to care for her, you know   
I would, but you can't honestly expect me to let myself get close. It's impractical, it's fallible, and it's a recipe for disaster!"  
Carlos leaned forward. "You had your chance. Now drop it, and come back to reality. Do we need another forbidden nursery in this house?"

Cecil's gaze hardened as he tried to tug himself loose from Carlos's grip. "You know what? You've changed, Carlos. And not for the better! The man I married would've been sad about this new chance, but... but you would've been like me! You would've looked for ways to do better this time! You'd have invented... I don't know, maybe a babysitting robot? Or trained a babysitting dog? You would've done something, not just keep getting drunk and saying these terrible things to me! Don't you remember how it used to be?"  
Struggling harder against Carlos' grip, he glared at his husband. "We have to try again! You used to be the strong one, remember? You'd never have talked to me like that, and you'd have loved the new little one!"

_You used to be the strong one.  
Used to be…_  
Carlos froze, staring at his husband. After a year of Cecil crying, hiding in the nursery, and sharing their grief over the radio, Cecil Palmer had the audacity to call _him_ weak? "You think through what you just said," Carlos whispered, not relinquishing his grip. "You think long and hard. Am I the one who's seeking redemption in another life? Am I the one who sings 'Happy Birthday' every year to someone who's not there?" He leaned forward, his face as hard as a gravestone.   
"You will _not_ accuse me of being the weak one, do you understand? Not now, not ever again. I'm the reason this family's still together, and I'm the one who's going to keep it that way."

"But we're not even a family anymore!"  
Cecil tugged harder, a flash of panic washing over his face as he edged away as far as his trapped hands would allow.   
"S-See, it's... Carlos, lo--... I know you don't like me. I know that, and it's okay! But I don't consider us a family anymore, you know? If we were a family, you'd love me like I love you, and we'd be _together._ There wouldn't be anymore of you hit--... of you being angry at me all the time. I can see it on your face every day, all that _anger._ "   
In a last ditch effort, Cecil leaned in, nervously kissing Carlos's cheek, nuzzling against him for a moment.   
"And the singing... it's for our little girl. She still needs someone to celebrate for her, you know? Wouldn't you want to know that someone still loves you?"

"You think this child is going to bring us back together?" Carlos asked. “You think another chance at failing, at killing an innocent, is going to make me look at you with wide eyes and flashing smiles?" He squeezed tighter. When Cecil tried to dart away, Carlos pulled him close again, his stubble scratching Cecil's cheek as he whispered in his ear. "I'm living with my daughter's killer. Do you understand that? I'm bound to the one man I can't even _look_ at without hearing my daughter crying." Closer, now. Lips brushing ears. "Oh, but she wasn't crying when she went under, was she Cecil? No. She sank without a sound. Silently slipped away, silently seeking her Mommy..."

Cecil shut his eyes, curling down and away from the words as he let out a moan, a near howl of sorrow.   
"I never meant to hurt her! Mia... Oh god, Mommy loved you so, so much! I only turned around for second, I swear! I just had to get her shampoo, and she'd held her head up so well earlier that day! Gods, Carlos, I never meant to hurt her! _I never meant to kill her_!"  
Another moan, sobs shaking Cecil's shoulder, his reddened eyes peering at the other. "You... I asked you for help, but you were always in your lab! I reached out, I said I needed a little help! Science has always been more important to you than me or your daughter!"

Carlos wasn't having any of the blame. He never did. Instead, he released one of Cecil's hands, reaching to grab him by the chin and force eye contact instead. "'Oh, Carlos, don't go out! We can get her college fund together later!'" His imitation of Cecil's voice was frighteningly accurate, eight years of endless chatter backing him up. "'Oh, Carlos, why won't you stay home? Why do you insist on paying the rent? On buying our diapers? Our formula? Why don't you stay home?' I had nothing in mind but the best interest of this family, Cecil. You are _not_ going to pin this on me! _I loved my baby girl!"_

"And you think I didn't love her too? Carlos, Mia was my life!" Cecil was shivering, his face pale with horror as he struggled to get out of Carlos' grip, his voice rising in pitch and volume as he continued to babble.   
"Carlos, I'd give up everything to have her back in my arms! I can't sleep, I can't eat, I can't even _think_ without her! Nothing is ever going to be the same, and I... Carlos, I tried my hardest to... to k-keep her s-safe! You've gotta believe me! The police believed me, all our friends believed me! So why can't you?! I used to love you so much, and the Carlos I used to know would have been there for me, and he'd... he'd be there for the new baby as well!"

"The Carlos you knew drowned with her!" he snapped back, tightening his hold on Cecil's chin. His other arm threw Cecil's wrist to the side, tense and poised at his side. If Cecil spat one more lie in his face, he was going to knock his teeth out. "You need to face what you've done! You need to stop defending yourself and accept that she's in the ground because of _you!_ " He observed Cecil's face, teeth gritting at the sight of Cecil losing himself to emotion all over again. "I swear, if you start crying right now because you're feeling sorry for yourself again..."

Cecil shook his head, reaching up his hand to try and cover his face, to wipe away the tears of fear and sorrow that were beginning to drop from his eyes again, his voice shaking and one of his feet pressing shyly against Carlos, as if poised to kick. Still, he managed to only press it gently against his husband's side, a threat that he'd never be able to carry through.  
How could he ever hurt Carlos? It was his fault, after all.  
"I'm n-not crying, and... and I guess I d-do feel sorry, but not for myself! I'm so s-sorry I hurt Mia! She was my baby, and I h-hurt her! I'm so sorry, Carlos! I know it was my fault!"

Carlos could see the tears forming on Cecil's cheek. This was nearly a daily event. A new child wasn't going to fix their broken hearts. If anything, the parents would destroy what little hope the fetus promised.  
Carlos could face that reality. Cecil could not.  
"Look at yourself, Cecil. You're falling apart more and more each day. You can't raise a baby in his house. Do you want it to see us talking like this? Always at each other's throats? There's no love left in this house." Suddenly, the scientist pushed Cecil away, shifting to his feet in a matter of seconds. He needed a drink.   
"I'm not advising you. I'm warning you. No more children will be in this house. Do you understand?"

Cecil nodded, choking on his tears for a moment, scrambling himself back into his feet. One hand pressed over his mouth, his eyes were fixed on the other man as his other hand searched the hallway wall behind him until it found the doorway of the bathroom. Fumbling, Cecil slid the door open and scurried inside, looking out at Carlos slot another moment before he shut the door again, locking it and slowly sinking to his knees again besides the tub.   
The tub where he's turned his back for only a moment.   
Where the light of his life had slipped under the water for the last time.   
Stuffing a towel over his own face, Cecil screamed into the soft fabric, his sobs shaking his whole body as he sat next to where his daughter had drowned at his own hand.

While Cecil cried, Carlos stared at the door. He knew the door was locked, and he didn't bother with the handle.  
But why did he bother with Cecil?  
The hardened man pressed one calloused hand to the woodwork of the door, throat burning for a shot of whisky. One small part of him, so minimized that he was barely able to discern the feeling, told him to go inside and comfort his husband. However, even at considering the action, he felt the familiar prick of tears at the corner of his eyes. The urge was quickly suppressed, and the man walked away from the bathroom.

As Cecil screamed, a small orange bottle teetered from the edge of the stained sink and onto the ground. The cap popped off, an array of pink pills spilling out onto the tile. They were one of Carlos' many newfound prescriptions, the likes of which he hadn't discussed with his husband. 

There were many such things that had never been discussed between them.

Big things, like Cecil's growing stomach, and how he was quietly dog-earing pages in the many parenting magazines he's never stopped subscribing to. The ones that were delivered to the station every month and lovingly read in the solitude of his car. Big things, like the many doctor’s appointments they'd missed, the milestones that Cecil had quietly noted to himself with every passing day. Big things, like the room that sat unopened, with its pink door, lovingly painted.  
Little things, too, that cemented the big things in place. Things like the words of congratulations given to them, or the small smile of the lady at the cash register, or the encouragement of long time radio fans. Little things that grew and piled up into the biggest things imaginable, like the way the silence in their home... in their _house_... had grown to be choking.   
The pills were little things, too. Little things that would pile up to produce a big solution to a big problem.

Cecil tested the lock on the door, and then popped open the bottle of pills, pouring them out on the tile in front of him in a straight line. He'd heard dying wasn't that bad, or at least, that's what the whispering of his loved ones had told him at the funeral. It was just like falling asleep.  
The man with the swollen stomach retrieved a glass of water, setting the paper cup next to the pile of pills, then slowly began filling up the bathtub next to him.

Carlos' steps were heavy as he retreated to the kitchen. They thundered off the walls in the absence of his voice, resonating with the booming control the scientist kept over the house. Even the _clink_ of his glass against the tabletop resonated with purpose.  
He filled the glass to the brim. Unsatisfied, he left the crystal where it was and raised the bottle to his lips instead. He never had any difficulty drowning his demons. Sure, his initial drinking episodes filled him with shame, but that was before he and Cecil stopped embracing. Before they stopped talking. Before, before, before...  
He brought the bottle to his lips again and sank into the worn leather of his recliner.

At the same time, Cecil was sinking into the bathtub, a pile of pills cupped in his hand as he sank, fully clothed, into the warm water. The liquid was sloshing over the sides of the tub, spilling out and beginning to drop out from under the door. The man poured all the pills back into their bottle, staring at the clear orange plastic for a long moment before he allowed himself to slide completely under the water, his eyes closed and the bottle held high above the water.   
It was muffled under the warm liquid, sound lingering heavy. Cecil imagined he could hear the inevitable sounds of his husband drinking. And he imagined he could hear his little girl giggling in his arms, stretching her tiny body as he tried to clothe her in the mornings.   
It was those sounds, nestled safely in his mind, that drive Cecil to finally being his head above the water again, the bottle of pills cradled in his hand as he called out as loud as he could over the sounds of the faucets still pouring water into the tub.  
"Carlos? Do you love me?"

Cecil's cry was muffled by the water, walls, and locked doors. Even if Carlos had tried, he wouldn't have been able hear his husband's question. Glancing over his shoulder, he watched the staircase, but all he could hear was the thundering of the bathtub.   
Fine, then.   
He looked back down at his bottle, turning it over in his calloused, scarred hands. Was this all he had to live for?

_thump._   
As Cecil clutched the brim of the bathtub, something in his stomach shifted. It wasn't large enough to be a kick, certainly, but there was a distinctly tiny movement all the same. A tap. A flutter. An innocent, tiny reminder, roused by the tears of its mother.

Everything seemed to freeze in Cecil's world.   
The thundering of the water was gone, as were the clattering of the pills as he dropped them to the dampened floor.   
The weight of his wet clothes no longer held down his chest or delayed him as he rushed to turn the water off. His trembling fingers worked fast at the faucet, the water sloshing around him as he settled himself upright again.   
"Oh my lord... Are you there? Little one?"  
Cecil's voice was soft and reverent as he placed both hands on the sides of his stomach, gently drumming the fingers of one hand against the skin. "Are you awake now? My angel?"

_thump. thump._   
The movement was blatant this time, a tiny heart beating under Cecil's fingers. The child twisted in its tiny home, the beginnings of fingernails reaching for the tapping of its mother.   
It was a tiny movement.   
An innocent shift. 

Cecil's smile was soft, his eyes teary as he curled up in the water with his hands pressed against his stomach.  
His Mia had done the same thing, stirring in him and pushing against the walls of his stomach.   
The radio could remember when he first felt it last time. He'd been doing a show that's he'd never quite finished. The results of the day's baseball game had left his lips to be replaced by a noise of surprise, and then of quiet joy. Carlos had been called the second he got to a phone, and they'd been a _family_.  
Perhaps they could be a family again.

"Carlos?"  
Cecil's voice was quiet as he stepped into the living room, his bare feet still damp but his clothes changed to dry ones. He swallowed, his smile genuine as he traced Carlos with his gaze. "I felt her kicking. You... You can feel my stomach, if you want."

"Her?"  
Something foreign made Carlos' throat choke up. The last time Cecil had mentioned kicking, Carlos had fled from of the lab and rushed to the radio station. His instincts told him to put down the bottle and move to Cecil's side, placing a loving hand over his stomach--  
 _You're getting attached.  
Stop it._  
Carlos shook his head. "Cecil," he whispered, unsure what to do with the all-too-real fatherly instinct. Instead, he kept his eyes forward, unable to look at his husband. The fetus had to be aborted. It _had_ to be. "We're going to the clinic on Monday, you can't... You can't just..."

Cecil shook his head, making his way over to the armchair and settling himself down on the arm of it. "Carlos, we both know that if she's kicking like this, it's far too late for abortion. That's only supposed to happen in the first trimester, you know? And she's beyond that. But just feel her, please? She's so beautiful, and I know you'll love her as much ask do!"  
His expression calm, Cecil lifted Carlos' hand, gently placing it on his rounded stomach. A small fluttering from within made him smile, his serenity in his gaze. "She's _alive_!"

Carlos tightened his grip over Cecil's stomach. "Cecil, we can't--"  
 _thump._   
Carlos' mouth hung open as the fetus kicked against his diggers, his hold immediately loosening over the growing child.   
It was alive. It was a mistake, but it was alive.   
"...we..." He refused to cry. He was the foundation of the household, and he had to push Cecil on to do what was best for their family. However, as the tiny little body _thump_ ed again, he knew their family had grown from two to three.   
Two broken parents. One unwanted child. Three lost souls.   
"She's so small," he whispered, reaching under Cecil's shirt to feel again. The tiniest twinge of emotion was in his voice, regardless of the alcohol staining his breath.

Cecil nodded wordlessly, laying one hand on Carlos' shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. The other hand found its way to lay on Carlos' hand, both resting on Cecil's stomach.   
"Carlos."  
Cecil's voice was firm, but his tone was gentle as he felt the child move within him again. To think that he'd been about to quiet himself as well as the child...   
"We need to have some rules. I don't want you hurting me, yelling at me, or otherwise threatening me. You know that I don't care if you hurt me, but we need to think about our child right now. If she sees you hurting me, she's going to be frightened. And heaven help you if you even _think_ about raising a hand to her, or yelling at her like you yell at me."

The stricken man could only nod, not meeting Cecil's eye. His gaze was fixed on the swollen stomach, almost daring the fetus inside to move again.   
A father.   
He was going to be a father.   
_Again._   
"I..." Carlos couldn't respond, closing his eyes and leaving his hand on Cecil's abdomen. He felt a gentle shifting, their small child adjusting in its tiny confines. The angel was oblivious to the violence around it, a perfect soul ready to be corrupted by their crumbling home--  
No. No. If Cecil was going to have this child... Carlos was going to raise it perfectly. No mistakes. No slip-ups. They were going to be perfect parents, and their son or daughter was going to grow up with strong, planted roots. No more funerals. No more obituaries. Their baby was going to be the happiest child in the world.  
Things were going to be perfect. They had to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, guys. We're working on the next chapter, and we'll upload when we can.
> 
> -CJ


	6. Birth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Domestic violence.  
> HELLP syndrome.

Hey, Carlos, my show is almost over. Do you have any plans for dinner, or would you like me to get takeout? -CP

Takeout. Listen, are Starters or Huggies better? -CR

Ummm... which is nicer? I mean, I heard Huggies are softer, but I'm concerned about the price. -CP

Huggies it is. -CR  
Chinese. -CR

Okay. But, uh... I didn't say alright about Huggies? See, there's gotta be a cheaper option that still works as well. -CP

They're the most expensive. They're the best. We're getting them. -CR  
When will you be home? -CR

I'll be home at 7:30. Will there be a home? Not sure, seeing as we need more money for taxes. -CP

I told you. I'm going back to work next week. I just had to get everything ready. -CR

Carlos, my love, that's not what I'm talking about. I just don't think we can afford all these fancy supplies for her. -CP

We can and we will. End of discussion. I know what's good for the baby. -CR

It's not that you know better than I do, it's that you're bossier. -CP

I know what's good for the baby. -CR  
When it comes next month, I want us to be ready. With the _best._ -CR

This is getting old, Carlos. Your whole "Cecil, I'm so much smarter than you" act. -CP

[delayed] Just because I've stopped bringing up certain instances, Cecil, doesn't mean they didn't happen. Let me make these decisions. -CR

I was under the assumption that we were going to stop arguing. For the baby's sake. -CP

And I was under the assumption this baby was going to be happy, healthy and safe. Huggies. -CR

We need to be sure we're raising her in the right environment. One with love and compassion. -CP

Great. Then respect my decisions to keep it safe. Problem solved. Do you want me to write a thesis for you? -CR

Do you really feel you need to? -CP

With how much you're arguing, I feel I might. -CR

What do you want to say, then? -CP

You chose to have this baby. Fine. But I'm going to make sure it makes it past the cradle. I'm going to do everything I can to keep it safe from whatever or whomever proposes a threat. -CR

Yes, that's alright. Just please don't go as overboard with this as you do with everything else. Like when I started taking multivitamins. -CP

Do you know what chemicals are in those things!? -CR  
The weather today is shit. Did Maureen pick it? -CR

No. And that was one of the songs on the playlist I made for your birthday this year. As I recall, you said you liked all the songs on it. -CP

[delayed] Right. I just got sick of this one. I listened to it too much. -CR

You didn't listen to the damn tape at all, did you. -CP

That's not it. -CR  
I've been busy getting ready for the baby. -CR

Whatever. It's fine. I haven't spent the Amazon gift card you gave me, yet. So personal. So intimate. -CP

I've been busy getting ready for the baby. -CR

It's only thirty minutes long. And you gave me an _Amazon gift card_ for our anniversary. -CP

Whatever happened to not fighting? -CR

You started it this time, and you really hurt my feelings. Can't you at least pretend you care? -CP

I'm sorry. I didn't realize me doing everything I can for our baby is not caring. My mistake. -CR

Oh, don't play the "I'm Carlos, and I'm emotionally manipulative" card again. You never Ijxndjhbjs -CP

Don't you dare. Don't you fucking dare. -CR

I can't deal with this right now. You're upsetting my stomach. -CP

I'm not the one who emotionally manipulated someone into becoming a father! -CR

Carlos. Stop. You're just making my stomach hurt! -CP

Are your pants wet? -CR

((delay)) Oh gods... How fast can you get over here? -CP

I'm on my way. Cecil, take deep breaths. Have Maureen guide you to the curb. -CR

I'm on air! And I _may_ have told everyone about this already. Don't be mad. -CP

I'm listening to you right now, damn it. Sign off and get outside! -CR

Wait, you’re listening to my show? That's so sweet, Carlos! I thought you didn't care about it anymore! -CP

SIGN OFF. -CR

There's only fifteen minutes left! -CP

Carlos threw his phone into the cup holder in frustration, speeding down Rose Drive. Despite his frustration with his husband, he was wearing a worried expression for the first time in years. Their baby was coming into the world.  
Their second baby.  
He pulled up to the curb of Night Vale Community Radio, the sky a heavy purple above them. He could still hear his determined husband trying to finish the broadcast, crackling through the speakers of his economically friendly coup. Jumping out of his car, Carlos rushed up the stairs of the radio tower for the first time since Mia had kicked. "Cecil," Carlos demanded, bursting past an uncharacteristically worried Maureen and into the recording studio. The perspiration on Cecil's brow was apparent, reflecting the lights of the radio equipment.  
He doubled over, leaning into the microphone and putting a strong arm on Cecil's shoulder. "Night Vale, we have to go. Stay tuned next week for... for the marshmallow apocalypse, scheduled this Tuesday. Goodnight!"

"G-goodnight... Night Vale. Goodnight." Cecil let out a sigh of relief as the latest contraction passed, straightening up in his chair. "Stayed tuned for the miracle of birth. Not in the radio tower, hopefully. In a nice hospital with my... with my husband."  
The radio host glanced up at scientist, exhaustion in his gaze. He tried to summon up some of the emotion he used to feel when he looked at that strong jawline and that perfect hair. Back when Carlos hadn't seemed to talk so _nasally_ and chew so _loudly_. Before his own mistake, when things had been so lovely...  
Why on earth did he have to _ruin_ things like that?  
"Carlos, she's coming too early. Did you call the doctors?"

"Yes. Your overnight bag is in the car, and I slipped your notice under Station Management's door. Come on." Carlos looped Cecil's arm over his shoulders, yanking the radio host to his feet. Cecil's headphones slipped off his forehead, hitting his nose and clattering to the floor. Carlos was too distracted to notice, almost running Cecil out to the car and shoving him into the backseat. "Drink the water there, Cecil. You need to stay hydrated. Please." Flicking on his blinker, he pulled out of the parking lot with a screech of his tires.   
This baby had to make it. It _had_ to. Carlos would see to it.  
"Tell me when your next contraction hits," he nearly shouted to the rear view mirror. "We need to count the seconds between--!"

"Oh _gods!_ "  
Cecil cried out, screwing his eyes shut before he forced himself to take deep breaths, evening his gasping out into something resembling normal breathing. The back seat was covered in protective blankets to spare the upholstery of the car, with a few pillows to make the journey to the hospital more comfortable. Cecil grabbed one of the pillows, hugging it to his chest with a wince of pain.  
Shifting himself in the backseat, the radio host sat up, looking carefully at Carlos. He thought for a moment, silent and tense.  
"Are you going to be with me in the room while we wait for the actual birth? Or are you going to stay outside until she's born?"  
His voice was quiet, one hand straying to tap a soothing rhythm on his stomach. 

Carlos winced, his eyes glancing to his watch. He had to count the seconds. "I'm going to be there," he replied. There was no emotion in the words--only worried strain. He was focused on getting the baby into the world, not comforting or consoling his husband. If something went wrong during the birth, he wanted to be there. His core biology classes would be enough to comprehend the anticipated madness.   
Then, a thought hit him.   
A shockingly personal thought.   
The scientist was forced to stop at a red light, blinker flashing. He looked up at Cecil through the rearview mirror, his expression painfully human. "Cecil?" he asked, voice strained. "Have you picked out a name?"

Cecil looked up for the pillow he'd buried his head in, his eyes softening at the look on Carlos's face. "I thought of a few names, actually. Nothing definitive."  
Wrong.  
Amongst his sacred collection of books on infants and child care, Cecil had a substantial number of volumes on baby names. A few names had been highlighted, the 'M' section painstakingly avoided. He didn't need to see the hearts he's drawn next to the name of his first daughter, the light of his life.  
But they'd have a new daughter, now. They'd be whole again.   
"Carlos, love, I figured you and the baby might be closer if you were the one to name her. I mean, I..." Wincing against the feeling of another mild contraction hitting him, Cecil dug one of the many books out of his bag, placing it on the passenger's seat. "Maybe you could look into it once we get to the hospital? Or maybe you have some in mind?"

The scientist hadn't allowed himself to think about it. He'd been addressing the growing fetus the same way one would tend to a crop--monitoring progress, length, and weight. You didn't name crops. You didn't dream of holding the corn ear in your arms. You only focused on getting a golden, hairy product.   
When they stopped at the next light, Carlos moved the book into his lap. Panic was ceasing him, and he ignored the worn and scribbled pages. He was ready to be a father, yes, but was he ready to be a dad? "Agnus!" he shouted, looking at one of the first pages in the book. The car jerked to a start again, the scientist’s eyes wild. "Annabella! Ariel! Augustine!" 

Cecil leaned forward and snatched the book back, shooting a glare at his husband. "Don't do it at all if you aren’t doing it out of love for her! I was giving you a gift, Carlos! A chance for us to start over, and for you to name our new beginning! But _no_ , you had to be just as cold about it as you've been with everything else we've done so far!"  
Cecil's voice rose as he snapped back at Carlos, his hands clenching as something in his mind shattered under the pressure of the last few years.  
"You know what, Carlos? I'm _done_. I'm absolutely done with all the cold behavior, and all the focus on your damn science! Pay attention to this little girl, and give her whatever love you have left, or I'll leave. So think very, _very_ carefully about what you want to do right now, here and when we get to the hospital. It's absolutely time for a change, and if you don't make it, _then I will._ "

"Excuse you?" Carlos asked, his expression hardening. He went from fatherly compassion to defensive scientist in two seconds flat. Did Cecil dare to threaten their relationship over his care for their child?  
Still, watching his red-faced husband groan in the back of the car, the reality of the situation set in. He could truly lose his family--his reason for fighting--if he didn't pick a worthwhile name and make an appearance.  
What had this marriage become?  
"You really don't think I'm going to be there for my own child?" he asked lowly, his grip deathly tight on the wheel. "You don't think I'll give it everything I can? Won't be there for it? Me working too much was what led to--" He stopped himself.

“Are you angry with me, Carlos?" Cecil's words were poison, his gaze determined for the first time in years. "What are you going to do, beat me again? Drink until your liver finally fails? You're hurting yourself and others, and I'm sick of it! I'm sick of all of it! I'm done lying about bruises to the ultrasound nurse! I'm done with both of us hiding behind our jobs! And I'm done being scared of you and what you might do to the baby!"  
His chest heaved as he fought to catch his breath, strength in his mind once again.  
"You're making me forget why I fell in love with you, Carlos. Make some changes, or you'll never see me again!"

Carlos clenched his teeth. There was nothing more he could say. Cecil had him pigeonholed, and Carlos was stuck by the uncharacteristic directness. He'd only been trying to help his family, working so hard, and he'd been numbing his pain with alcohol like any other grieving family member would. Wasn't he allowed to mourn in his own fashion?  
His train of thought was broken by the sight of the hospital in the distance. He sped into the parking lot, unlocking the doors and opening the back for his... for his husband.  
He forced eye contact when the radio host came out of the car, if only for a second.  
"I'll never hurt it, Cecilito."

Cecil's face was a mask of contained rage as he glared at Carlos. Staggering to his feet out of the car, Cecil made a point not to touch his husband, leaning on the vehicle for support instead.  
He waited until he'd caught his breath before he looked at Carlos again, and rolled his his sleeve to reveal the latest set of bruises. "You said you'd never hurt me. You said you loved me, and that you'd take care of me! I didn't forget your vows, Carlos, but you definitely have! I want you to think about what you've done, and if I see you with a drink in your hands while I push out our child, I'm not going to lie anymore about why I keep getting hurt! So shape up, and show me the Carlos that you used to be! The person who was too kind to even kill a gnat!"

He couldn't stop himself from reaching forward, tugging Cecil's sleeve back down. Some hidden part of him was ashamed of his actions, but he didn't enjoy the emotions that stirred with it. He'd rather not be reminded, pushing away the aggressively drunken nights.  
"Stop being stubborn," he murmured, looping Cecil's arm over his shoulders and walking him toward the front doors. He was eager to change the subject, the combination of the labor and the sudden attack making him light-headed. "We'll talk about this later. Right now, you need to focus on bringing it safely into the world, alright--?"

"You're one of the people I have to keep her safe from, Carlos! If you can't help but hurt me to make yourself feel better, who knows what you'll do to the baby! I don't know what you're capable of anymore!"  
Cecil snatched his arm away, staggering over to the side of the walkway and slumping down onto a bench, a groan escaping him. Still, he fixed his watering eyes on his husband, laying a hand on his own stomach as if to try and soothe the child within.  
"Carlos, you know what I'm going to do? I'm going to be a good parent. I'm going to love her, ask for help when I need it, and use my community to support me when I can't handle the stress of it on my own. Something you should have done years ago. Something we both should have done. And you know what? I'm going to be there for my daughter. She's not going to be scared of making you angry, or watching how much you drink. I'll protect her, even if that means I have to protect her from you. I'm not going into the damn hospital until you promise me you'll get help and that you won't lay a _finger_ on me without my approval. You think I'm kidding? I'm absolutely fine with giving birth right here in the parking lot. And we both know you can't move me."

" _Cecil_ , this isn't the time!" Carlos was breaking out into a sweat, desperately kneeling beside his husband and taking Cecil's hand with a desperate grip. The very fact that Cecil was willing to have their child on a park bench only furthered Carlos' argument--the man was unfit to raise a child. He was too sensitive to take care of a baby. They would be trapped in an endless cycle of emotional outbursts and suppressed blows, their child trapped in the middle. Cecil simply wasn't made to be a mother.   
Not that Carlos was a perfect father himself.   
"Look, I promise! I won't hurt it! I won't hurt you! There? Is that what you wanted to hear?" Carlos moved his other hand up to cup Cecil's, shaking the man's arm with panic in his eyes. He'd say anything to get the radio host into the hospital. "Ready!?"

Eyes narrowing, Cecil pulled his arm out of Carlos's grip. "Even now, you're hurting me! My arm, it's... Gods, Carlos..."   
Delicately, he pulled up his sleeve, laying a hand over the bruises that lay there to try and stop their aching. "Don't shake me, ever, and don't grab me, and--..."  
Cecil stopped himself with a gasp of pain, doubling over and shuddering as he tried to catch his breath again. Slowly, he focused his eyes on Carlos, his expression firm. "You're not going to touch her, and you're not going to hold her.You've got no problem punishing me, shaking me, and physically assaulting me, so you'll have no problem hurting our daughter. So you know what? Touch her, and I'll tell everyone what you've been doing to me. You need to make a change in your life, Carlos. Just like I'm doing right now. I'm standing up for myself, changing who I am, and you're going to go back to the kind soul you used to be. Alright? Prove to me you're going to do that, and you can hold our daughter."

Couldn't...  
Couldn't hold his own...  
Carlos stood up and took a step back, staring at Cecil in disbelief. "You can't do this," he whispered, glancing at the doors of the hospital again. Could Cecil at least try to be less dramatic? Blowing everything out of proportion, punishing Carlos for something he didn't even do on _purpose_...  
"It’s my child too. You can't just take it away from me like this. I've put the last six months of my life into preparing for this baby. I'm going to hold it." He stooped down and gently took Cecil's hand, clenching his jaw and trying to keep himself from tugging the radio host to his feet.   
"We'll talk about this later. Please, _please_ , go inside."

Shaking his head, Cecil returned Carlos' grip, giving his husband’s hand a squeeze as he fought his way through his next contraction. He was shaking at the end of it, but he made a point to latch his other hand onto the armrest of the bench, his legs firmly braced against the ground in preparation against a pull towards the door.   
No one was going to force him and bully him anymore. He would find his strength.   
"Carlos, we need to talk about it /now/. Tell me, _calmly_ , what you're going to be doing differently. I told you my plan, and you need to communicate with me for once and tell me yours. How are we going to make our marriage work, and how are we going to raise our daughter?"

He forced himself to take a deep breath, panicking as he glanced down at Cecil's stomach. Their daughter needed to be taken care of--if playing Cecil's game was what it took, he'd do it. "I'll drink responsibly," Carlos promised, trying not to sound hurried and failing. "I won't lay a hand on you. I'll sleep on the couch. I'll give you whatever space you need until you feel ready to let me near you again. Please, Cecil. That's my plan. That, and keeping our baby safe."He raised his eyebrows, his voice heightening in pitch. "And part of that promise is getting it _here._ In a _bed,_ with a _doctor._ Please, I'll do whatever you say. Truly. Anything. I'm sorry."

"First of all, you won't be drinking at all. Once we get home, I'm throwing out all our alcohol, and I'm buying a breathalyzer. If you drink, you can find yourself a nice motel to stay in for the next few days. Don't drink, and we'll sleep in a bed together. No more of this crap where we both sleep in separate rooms. If we're going to make this work, we need to get comfortable with each other again."   
Cecil's voice wavered at the end, his eyes squeezing shut in pain.   
"And you know what, Carlos? If you really will do whatever I say, then you can do one very, very important thing for me. You can get help. The second we get home, you're going to call a therapist and a substance abuse counselor, and you're going to make weekly appointments. You're not going to be walking around all emotionally constipated anymore. I'm going to start seeing someone too. We both need help, desperately, and for the good of our daughter, we need to reach out for that help."

Like hell Carlos was going to comply. He was going to need all the strength he could to raise another baby just one door down from Mia's original nursery. Still, for the moment, his objective was to get Cecil off the bench and into the hospital.   
He threaded their hands together, giving his husband a reassuring squeeze and getting down on his knees again. He put on the most sincere expression he could, forcing himself not to rush through the words. "Whatever you say, Cecilito. I'll call the doctor in three days time. As soon as we're out of the hospital." He glanced over his shoulder at the doors. "It'll be good for us. And the baby."

Cecil pulled one of his hands away, pressing it over his mouth and biting back a noise of agony. His eyes watered, a few tears escaping him as he tried to hold back against the next contraction. Once the moment passed, he tried to get to his feet, his legs trembling and giving way beneath him to put him firmly back on the bench.   
Eyebrows furrowed, Cecil grabbed up Carlos's hand again, giving it a desperate squeeze. "You can't just say this now and pretend you didn't really promise it later on. You've got to mean it. And don't just say it to get me inside the hospital. In our lives, we come to a point where our lives will be completely changed depending on what decision we make. I decided now that I don't want to hurt myself with my guilt and that you can't hurt me anymore. I'm giving you that choice right now, Carlos. Either you change and you get a happy, loving family, or you die alone. Without any great stories to tell..."   
Cecil's voice faltered, a few more tears dripping down his face as he gripped his husband's hands tighter. "...t-to tell Mia. We need to do the right thing for once, to honor her and her memory. And we can do that by living out our lives, and... and having some new stories to tell her once we see her again someday."

Something akin to guilt flashed across his face. Cecil truly did mean the best for their family--he was putting himself in a painful position to protect their family from what he assumed was a threat. Carlos respected and loved the radio host's efforts.   
But the man had spent too many days crying. Eating pink cupcakes. Even now, he was abandoning practicality to make a dramatic point. Once upon a time, the two men had balanced themselves between emotional stability and factuality, but after the death of their daughter the scales were at war.   
Carlos knew his pure logos was what their daughter needed. Even if it meant deceiving his partner. Cecil wouldn't follow through with his threat, Carlos was certain of it. For the moment, he played along.   
He helped Cecil into the hospital and shouted for nurses, three women and two men helping Cecil into their room. Together, they stripped Cecil and helped him into a gown, setting him on he bed and preparing the epidermal. Carlos sat beside his husband and kept a tight grip on his hand, distracting him from the large needle.   
"We'll have nothing but beautiful stories to tell it," he reassured him, smiling through the tears. He couldn't stop the fear from seizing him, every fiber of his being praying for a safe delivery. "I promise."

The nurses acted quickly, the anesthesiologists helping Cecil into a hunched and curled position. His back was swabbed with disinfectant, the mutters of the doctors hardly reaching the pregnant man in the midst of his terror.   
"Carlos? Carlos, I just... I don't..." He let out a sob, curled up and as still as he could be. Still, with the permission of the nurse closest to him, a slender, pale arm was reached out. "Please? God, I just want this to work, y-you know?"

Carlos eyed the large needle that was being prepared behind Cecil, taking deep and even breaths. He took the man's hand and squeezed it, trying to distract. "It's going to be fine," he reassured him, holding his breath. His hands were clammy, slippery in Cecil's grip. "Just keep your eyes on me, okay? It’s going to be just fine. It’s going to be perfect."

A few people helped hold Cecil down, the mother-to-be letting out a moan of pain at the feeling of the needle. Finally though, the moment passed, as did the feeling in his legs. Gently, a few nurses rearranged his numbed lower half, getting him as ready as he'd ever be for the delivery.  
"Carlos, you... where do you want to be?" Cecil's voice was relaxed as he laid back against his pillows, watching the sign of his contractions on the monitors over to the side.

"Where do I want to be?" the scientist asked, looking down at Cecil's dazed expression. "I... I want to be home. I want to be home in the new nursery with you and our baby An--"  
"--nurse." One of the doctors motioned a nurse over to the monitor, several others crowding around at the same time. Carlos forced himself not to panic, holding his husband's hand. "I want to be in the nursery with you and our beautiful Ana. Do you like that name, Cecil? Ana? I think I read it in a book, once upon a time. Our little Ana in her purple blanket with her purple stuffed octopus--"  
And just like that, Cecil was ripped away from the scientist.  
"Mr. Palmer. Mr. Palmer." The doctors, friendly and encouraging a second before, all took a hold of various parts of Cecil's body and tried to flip him over. "Mr. Palmer, on your hands and knees! On your hands and knees!"  
Carlos stood up. "You numbed him, damn it! What's going on?"  
"Mr. Palmer, focus on the pen. Focus. You need to get on your hands and knees. Now!"  
"What the hell is going on!?"

Cecil seemed to be in a daze, his eyes blank as he swallowed and tried to focus back on Carlos.  
"Honey, Carlos..."   
His voice drifted in and out, seedy and faint to even his own ears as black spots began to dance in front of his eyes. His limbs felt cold, and his legs...   
Where were his legs?   
"...Mmhph. Carlos...?"

"Keep him awake."  
"Get that IV."  
"--heart rate--"  
"--blood platelets--"  
"--dropping--"  
Carlos stared at the mess in horror, allowing himself two seconds of dumbfound disbelief before he sprung into action. The scientist ran around the bed until he was facing Cecil, moving his arms into a braced position as four doctors positioned his legs in the back. A belt was wrapped around Cecil's lower abdomen, beeping at a dangerously low rate.  
"Mr. Ramirez. Mr. Ramirez!" A contract was shoved in Carlos' face. He didn't even read it, scribbling his signature on the sheet and shoving the clipboard away. He slapped Cecil, trying to keep the man conscious.  
"Cecilito! You can't fall asleep! Look at me!" Another slap. A desperate cry. "Gods, Cecil... Cecil, look at me!"

"Don't... _No!_ "   
Cecil let out a sob, his legs and arms trembling as he struggled to keep his lunch down. The black dots in front of his eyes were still there, consciousness fading in and out as he struggled to stay in the light, to focus on the baby's monitors.  
"Don't hit m-me, Carlos.."

"Flip him back over!" a doctor shouted.  
Without thinking twice, Carlos grabbed Cecil's arms, helping the doctors flip his husband over. A mask was shoved over Cecil's face, another two needles thrust into his abdomen.  
"Mr. Ramirez. Mr. Palmer. We'll need to take the baby now."  
Carlos was almost as pale as Cecil. "Now?"  
"Now. Keep him awake."  
Carlos turned back to Cecil as a sharpie was scribbled across Cecil's stomach, marking the incision point. His eyes were filled with fear, but he still brushed Cecil's hair from his face. "Cecilito. Hey. Guess what? We're having the baby now! Isn't--Isn't that exciting?" He had to initiate conversation. Keep the radio host talking.

Cecil nodded lazily, one eye half closed as the other fought to remain open. He went limp as the seconds passed, his body relaxed, pale and clammy as fresh fish.  
"I... we came here for the baby. Carlos, why...?"  
He struggled to raise his hand, finally laying it clumsily on his stomach where the doctors were scribbling onto him.

Carlos snatched the hand away, holding it between his and squeezing it to the point of pain. He wasn't thinking of Cecil's emotional wellbeing--he was trying to keep the man awake. He prayed Cecil would thank him later. "What do you think of the name Ana, sweetie?" He could see spilling red in his peripheral, leaning slightly to try and block the view from Cecil. He couldn't let him pass out. "Tell me what you think. Tell me why you like it. Tell me why you don't."

"You're... _Carlos!_ My hand, Carlos..."  
He let out a sob, squeezing his husband's hand back and trying to see around him.   
"I love the... the name. What's going on? It hurts! Carlos, what's...?"   
He continued to struggle past the heavy feeling descending upon him, his eyes rolling as he tried to stay awake, his grip loosening. 

Gods above, he was losing him again. Turning around for half a second to see a tiny hand reaching out, Carlos grit his teeth and spun back, his hand flying against Cecil's cheek.   
Ana's first sound would be skin hitting skin.  
"Cecil. Cecil!" He slapped the man again, ignoring the young wailing cry behind him as he leaned forward, pulling Cecil's eyelid open. "Look at me, damn it! She's here! Don't you want to meet your daughter!?"  
The moment Ana was out, the skin was being stitched back together, cotton and metal instruments flying to and fro as the girl was carried to the sink. She was washed in warm water by a nurse, screaming for her mother.  
"Cecil? _Cecil!_ "

The thinner man sobbed heavily, his eyes hardly open as he struggled against Carlos, turning his head to face the sink. "Where is she?! What did you do to my daughter, Carlos?! She... Ana! Ana, where... Don't..."  
Sobbing, Cecil managed to lash out, lightly shoving Carlos in an attempt to get the fingers from his eyes.  
"You're _scaring_ me! And my... my little girl... Ana?! Don't hurt her! You bastard, _don't hurt her!_ "

Two of the six doctors in their rooms turned their heads to Carlos, surprised. Carlos ignored them, allowing himself to fall backwards at Cecil's pathetic push.  
Was Cecil really that afraid of him?  
Stunned, Carlos leaned towards one of the staring nurses. "Do we need to keep him awake?"  
"Yes. At all costs. What's your blood type?"  
Carlos was already rolling up his sleeve, eyes fixed on the frightened husband. "O negative. Go."  
Sitting down beside the crying man, Carlos kept his hands to himself. "I'm not going to hurt her. She's safe. She's... Gods, Cecil, she's beautiful. I love her more than anything in the whole world. Why would you..." He shook his head, swallowing as the needle was inserted into his arm. "She's _safe._ " 

"But _where is she?!_ " Cecil sobbed harder, confusion flooding his mind as he struggled to fight his way back into the light, back to where his daughter was screaming and taking her first few breaths of air.   
She...  
She was a month too early. She's be premature, but a strong voice like that couldn't mean anything bad. They'd survive, and he'd take his little girl... his _Ana_... home again.  
"My Ana... Can I...? I want to see her!"

"Mr. Ramirez." A doctor whispered behind the scientist as the blood started to transfer, Ana screaming as her last immunization was administered. "He's not strong enough to hold the baby."  
"I'll take her."  
"Thank you."  
Moments later, Ana was transferred to Carlos' good arm. The infant craned her neck, stretching in her purple blanket. She was tiny, her skin red and her blonde hair matted.   
"Cecil, reach a hand out slowly. That's it... slowly... She's reaching for you too... Look how beautiful she is." He tilted the child toward her mother, trying to make the angle easier for Cecil. Anything to keep him awake. "She looks just like her mother."

Cecil gave a wobbly smile, his tears sticking the clear plastic mask to his face as he laid his hand on his daughter. He let out a sob, one of Ana's tiny hands grabbing one of his fingers, hardly able to close her whole fist around it.   
"Shes... Carlos, I... What do I even do? She's so special, and I'm..." Cecil choked on air for a moment before he regained himself again, patting his chest and motioning for his husband to lay Ana on him. "I'm so tired, Carlos. And... and Ana has to be too. Lay her with me...?"

Carlos looked over at one of the doctors, clenching his teeth when he shook his head. Cecil would take it personally, surely. Kissing his daughter's forehead, Carlos kept Ana close enough to hold onto her mother. "You're sick, Cecil," he said quietly, shushing his daughter.  
 _His daughter._  
The shock was starting to wear off, Carlos' fatherly hand tightening slightly around the bundle in his arms. Their daughter was safe. Their second chance had survived. She could make it through this. "I'm sorry, but you can't hold her just yet." He glanced at the blood flowing from his vein to his husband's, shivering slightly and kissing Ana again. "For now, I need you to be strong. Okay, sweetie? Can you be strong? We need you to focus on staying awake so you can be here for Ana."

Nodding slowly, Cecil laid his head back, eyes focused on Ana as he tried to keep holding his hand up for her to grab onto.  
"When can I go to sleep, Carlos?" His voice was quiet and rough, his eyes glazed as he tried to force them wider. "I'm so _tired,_ my darling. And I think... I can't feel my legs."  
He stayed quiet, his eyes blinking open and shut again as he looked in admiration at his daughter. "She's so _small_."

"Just a little bit longer." Carlos had no idea when Cecil would sleep, but he doubted he'd be long for this world. Cecil needed rest. "You did such a good job. She's perfect, isn't she? Our beautiful little girl..."  
It was almost impossible to keep the tears from falling.  
Almost.  
Carlos gently pulled Ana away from her mother, freeing Cecil's arm and allowing it to rest on the bed instead. He didn't want him to use too much energy. "We're going to get you better. We're giving you blood right now."

Cecil nodded, reaching his hand back up again as far as he could to try and touch his daughter again. The limb trembled violently, but Cecil somehow managed to at least grab onto the edge of Carlos' blood splattered sleeve.   
Then, sighing, the man began to relax. His eyes were half lidded, some of the color already returning to his skin as the blood transfusion did it's work.   
"She's... is she alright? Is Ana alright?"

Carlos turned from Cecil for a moment, looking over their daughter. The blood-stained face was almost too familiar, Carlos having to close his eyes for ten solid seconds before he could look at his daughter again.  
Purple eyes. Not brown. Purple, like her mother.   
"She's flawless," Carlos said honestly, voice catching. He was starting to tremble, the emotions only barely suppressed. He couldn't bring himself to look at his husband again, trying to steady himself in the tide swirling around him. "She looks just like you."

Cecil's glazed eyes widened, then softened again, his lips parted in thought.   
"I... Like me? Well, I don't think I want her to be like me..."  
He'd been weak in his own eyes. Earl Harlan had taken him aside one day with a lowered voice and concern in his eyes to ask about the latest series of bruises. Cecil had looked into his friend's eyes and lied, shame painting his face red.  
"I want her to be more like you, I think."

Their last child had been like him. Through and through, Mia had been a carbon-copy of the father. If Ana were the same way, Carlos wouldn't have been able to even glance at his daughter.  
"Things are better this way," he said quietly, voice husky. He squeezed his eyes shut as the nurses unhooked him from the IV transfer, steadying himself as Ana started to cry. A nurse handed him a bottle, the scientist holding it to Ana's lips out of muscle memory.  
"Rest, Cecil."

The radio host nodded, letting his head sink further into his pillow, a sigh of relief escaping him as he gazed up at his daughter and husband. Peace bloomed in his eyes, a different sort of rest growing in his mind, clouding him until his words felt like cotton on his tongue.   
"You... Can I sleep now?" His voice was quiet, his hand loosely draped onto Carlos' sleeve. "I promise, I'll be there for you both in the morning. You'll both stay with me, though? Please?"

"We will," Carlos said quietly. He looked over at a nurse, relieved to see her nodding. "Just close your eyes, Cecil. Relax. Everything's going to be okay. We're all going to be okay."  
As Carlos watched Cecil drift off to sleep, he allowed himself to fully hold his daughter. The bottle drained, he bounced her in his arms, kissing her cheek from time to time and humming as she snoozed.   
That had been far too close.  
With all the precautions Carlos had taken, they’d still managed to put their second chance in danger. He would have to kick it into overdrive if he wanted to keep her safe as she grew. Safety locks. Covered table corners. Sanitized toys. Every possible precaution would be taken to look after their little girl.  
He'd make sure of it.  
They were going to be happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Let us know what you think! <3
> 
> -CJ
> 
> P.S. Don't worry. We still have plans for these two... *maniacal laugher*


End file.
